st* 


LIBRARY 

I     UNIVERSITY  OF     I 
VcAUFORNIA/ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Class  of  1897 


T1J  Z 


SILENT  HARP; 


FUGITIVE    POEMS 


BY    MISS    ELIZABETH    ALLEN. 


But  Oh  !  how  griteful  to  a  wounded  hoart 
The  lalo  ol'  Misery  to  iinjmrt — 
From  other*'  eyes  hid  artless  Borrows  flow, 
Au'l  raise  esteem  »I;K»Q  the  lni#»  of  \\\*  '. 


BURLINGTON: 

EDWARD     SMITH, 

(Suectaavr  to  CAau«c*y  Goodrick.) 

1832. 


accordin    to 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1832, 

By  ELISABETH   ALLEN, 
in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  of  Vermont. 


University  Frees... .E.  Smith. 


PUBLISHER'S   ADVERTISEMENT. 


THE  following  pieces  of  Miss  Allen's  are  not  offered  to  the 
world  with  any  expectation  of  pecuniary  compensation,  be 
yond  the  expense  of  publishing.  The  situation  of  their  au 
thoress  is  sufficiently  stated  in  her  biographical  notice,  and  the 
publisher  hopes  all  who  patronize  native  genius,  will  purchase 
her  book,  when  they  are  informed,  the  profits  are  for  her 
benefit. 

Burlington,  October,  1832. 


PREFACE 


IT  may  not  be  amiss  to  introduce  this  little  volume  of  poems 
to  the  attention  of  the  reader,  by  giving  a  brief  sketch  of  the 
life  of  its  authoress  ;  as  we  have  been  enabled  to  learn  it  from 
her  friends  and  acquaintances.  This,  we  think  more  appro- 
priate,  since  she  does  not  present  her  \vorks  before  the  public, 
as  a  fair  subject  for  fastidious  criticism.  To  her  friends  she  is 
assured  this  will  prove  an  acceptable  offering,  and,  from  the 
favorable  notice  given  to  many  of  her  anonymous  pieces,  she 
is  also  induced  to  hope,  that  no  small  portion  of  her  readers 
will  be  ready  to  admit  that  her  faults  as  an  authoress,  do  not 
exceed  her  misfortunes. 

Miss  Elizabeth  Allen  was  born  in  Craftsbury,  Vt.,  and  there 
has  spent  most  of  her  time.  The  town  was  then  mostly  a 
wilderness,  and  three  or  four  months'  attendance  at  a  district 
school  was  the  extent  of  her  opportunity  for  acquiring  an  edu 
cation.  Under  her  own  tuition,  however,  she  early  became 
fond  of  reading  and  well  acquainted  with  all  the  books  which 
the  place  afforded ; — She  also  engaged  in  epistolary  writing, 
and,  in  accordance  with  the  inspiration  of  natural  scenery,  of 
1* 


PREFACE. 

which  she  was  passionately  fond,  and  of  her  own  buoyant  and 
joyful  spirit,  she  made  some  attempts  at  poetic  composition. 
She  lived  poetry,  at  least,  kind  hearted  and  sympathetic  ;  and  her 
days  were  happy.  But,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  she  was  attack 
ed  with  a  fever  which  wholely  deprived  her  of  hearing.  All 
attempts  at  relief  have  been  baffled,  and  her  case  is  now  en 
tirely  hopeless.  This  misfortune  gave  her  thoughts  a  pensive 
cast  which  they  did  not  before  exhibit.  Thus  deprived  of  so- 
uial  intercourse,  her  chief  amusement  has  been  in  attempts  at 
composition,  both  prose  and  poetic  ; — in  this  manner  were  the 
following  poems  written.  With  respect  to  her  circumstances 
in  life,  she  is  wholly  dependent  upon  her  own  exertions;  and, 
whatever  pecuniary  assistance  s"he  may  receive  from  the  pub 
lication  of  this  volume,  will  not  prove  an  offering  to  ono  that 
needs  it  nut,  or  that  forarets  to  be  grateful. 


APOLOGY 


I  ne'er  the  steep  of  fame  to  climb 
Have  sought,  by  scribbling  prose  or  rhynu 
Parnassus'  mount  I've  look'd  upon, 
But  saw  beneath,  an  abyss  yawn  : 
And  though  inclin'd  its  height  to  gain, 
I  feared,  and  sought  the  lowly  plain* 

There  as  I  roamed  my  lonely  way, 
Shrill  lyres  I  heard  above  me  play, 
All  from  the  mount  or  midway  high, 
Of  varied  tone  and  melody. 

But  O  !  one  lyre  above  the  rest, 
Awak'd  emotions  in  my  breast ; 
'Twas  thine, — lamented  youthful  White, 
I  listened  to  it  with  delight. 
Misfortune  standing  by  his  side, 
And  as  his  hand  to  harp  he  plied, 
Slow  moved  a  string — his  bosom  glowed 
AtTd  struck  to  "  Disappointment's  Ode." 


I  listened  to  its  plaintive  tone 

And  felt  each  note  was  all  my  own; — 

When  lo !  '  Cornelia'  waked  a  strain 

Which  to  resist  was  all  in  vain  ; — 

So  deep — so  plaintive — low,  yet  sweet — 

Each  softer  feeling  rose  to  meet ; 

And  in  the  oause  of  captived  thought — 

My  heart  straying  echo*     caught, 

Which  on  its  pulse,  by  sorrows  chilled, 

Produc'd  these  notes — uncultur'd — wild. 


THE    NEW    YEAR 


Old  time,  on  his  car,  has  revolved  round  again, 
And  Boreas  now  mildly  resumes  his  old  reign, 
While  high  o'er  his  empire  pale  Luna  sails  on, 
And  whispers  to  mortals — "  one  year  more  is  gone." 

How  glorious  the  morn  as  it  rises  to  view, 
A  new  year,  my  friends,  is  now  dawning  on  you, 
Hope  smiles  on  the  future  and  points  us  to  bliss  ; — 
Is  ought  in  fruition  so  pleasing  as  this  ? 

But  stay, — for  a  moment,  and  let  us  reflect, 
While  of  the  past  seasons  we  take  retrospect- 
Gone, — gone, — yes  forever, — how  fleet  they  have  sped  ; 
And  thousands  gone  with  them  to  sleep  with  the  dead. 

The  widow  laments  in  the  fulness  of  woe ; — 
The  patriot — the  statesman — whose  hopes  are  laid  low ; 
The  Muses  lament  too — a  favorite  son ; 
Oshorn  on  the  willows  his  sweet  harp  has  hung. — 

What  wond'rous  events  fill  the  calendar  page, 
Ah !  look  at  lone  Greece,  where  war's  havoc  doth  rage 


10 

Oppress'd  by  a  tyrant — her  patriots  rise, 

And  shout  "  vict'ry  or  death"  aloud  to  the  skies. 

Missolonghi — Oh  stay — drop  a  tear  for  her  fate, 
Such  valour — devotion,  what  pen  can  relate ; 
Hail !  Grecia — all  hail !  may  thy  courage  remain, 
'Till  the  Ottoman  tribes  leave  thy  vallies  with  shame. 

But  turn  thee  and  see  now  the  hand  of  our  God, 
On  Columbia's  fair  land,  he  hath  lifted  his  rod, 
And  great  was  the  glory  that  gleam'd  from  the  blow, 
When  Adams  and  Jefferson,  slept  with  the  low  ; 
'Till  ages  expire  the  tale  shall  be  told, 
While  kings  and  their  vassals,  "  with  wonder  behold." 

/"I  ' 

And  heard'st  thou  a  -voice  from  the  eastward  afar  ? 

Has  Juggernaut  come,  on  his  thundering  car  ? 
Ah  !  no — 't  is  the  voice  of  a  mightier  power — 
"  The  slide  of  a  mountain"  tremendous  the  hour ! 

Ah !  Willey — thou  martyr — how  sad  was  thy  doom, 
Thy  wife  and  thy  children,  Oh  where  is  their  tomb  ? 
Weep  daughter  of  pity ;  weep  son  of  the  brave — 
A  mountain*  in  ruins  hath  made  them  a  grave. 

But  why  should  we  dwell  on  the  glooms  of  the  past, 
Since  lights  have  been  blended,  and  lights  that  shall  last, 
For  swift  the  reformer  hath  passed  thro'  our  land 
And  thousands  submitting,  have  joined  the  blest  band. 

*Whjte  Mountains. 


11 

With  prayers  and  with  praises,  our  temples  resound, 
And  charity,  virtue,  and  friendship  abound. 

All  hail !  to  thy  morning,  thou  gladsome  young  year, 
In  thy  bosom  may  solace  be  found  for  each  tear, 
While  the  child  of  misfortune — the  victim  of  grief, 
Receives  from  thy  bounties,  a  grateful  relief; 
May  philanthropists  rise,  to  awaken  the  zeal 
Of  all  who  have  spirits,  and  hearts  that  can  feel ; 
'Till  "  slavery"  is  banish'd  from  this  our  free  shore, 
And  "  debtors  imprisoned"  are  heard  of  no  more. 

Oh!  when  shall  that  era,  of  glory  arise, 
When  shall  that  "  New  year"  beam  forth  to  our  eyes ; 
When  envy  and  discord,  shall  cease  to  prevail, 
And  each  one  his  neighbor,  as  brother  shall  hail. 


LUCINDA'S     GRAVE. 


No  willow  waves  its  silent  shade 
On  the  new  turf,  that  hides  her  head, 
No  marble  stone — engraved  upon, 
Tells  how  much  loveliness  is  gone. 

But  o'er  the  mound,  where  low  she  lies, 
The  turf  is  green, — and  clovers  rise  ; 
And  flowrets  soon  will  bud  and  bloom, 
To  grace  Lucinda's  early  tomb. 

No  sacriligious  footstep's  tread 
Approaches  there  her  lowly  head, 
But  each  fond  friend,  doth  lowly  bend, 
While  tears  upon  the  grave  descend. 

And  there  the  robin  wakes  his  song, 
And  sweetly  sings,  the  whole  day  long 
As  if  her  sleep  to  soothe  and  keep, 
While  Cath'rine  sits  to  list  and  weep. 


The  following  was  written  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Sigourney's  very  pathetic 
lines  "On  seeing  the  deaf,  dumb  and  Hind  girl,  of  the  American  Asylum, 
in  Hartford,  at  a  festival."  The  authoress  begs  leave  to  differ  in  opinion, 
from  many  others,  firmly  believing  that  those  who  come  into  the  world  desti 
tute  of  the  sense  of  hearing,  and  are  consequently  dumb,  in  general,  are  far 
more  tranquil  and  happy  than  those  who  have  once  enjoyed  this  blwinsr  anil 
-•utfered  bereavement. 


Methinks  before,  I  've  heard  that  note, 
Sigourney — 't  is  thy  plaintive  strain  : 

Afar  the  symphony  shall  float, 
Then  sweetly  echo  back  again. 

But  she,  to  whom  thy  feeling  heart 

Hath  paid  the  tributary  lay, 
May  never,  by  instinct  nor  art, 

Know  the  sweet  solace  they  convey. 

She  sits  in  calm  asylum's  shade, 

Nor  knows,  nor  fears  the  ills  of  life — 

Nor  heeds  what  slanderous  tongues  have  sekl, 
So  free  from  noise,  from  care  and  strife. 

Her  guileless  heart  has  never  sighed, 
Nor  throbed  with  rising  passions'  glow, 
2 


14 

Nor  felt  the  sting  of  wounded  pride, 
Nor  disappointment's  heavy  blow. 

But  calm  and  peaceful  is  her  breast — 
A  little  world  that 's  all  her  own — 

Disturbed  by  no  intrusive  guest, 
And  ruled  by  nature's  laws  alone. 

And  think  you,  lady,  this's  the  fate 
Which  most  demands  thy  sympathy  ? 

And  is ""tke  most  unfortunate 

Of  all  that  dwell  below  the  sky  ? 

Ah !  no — in  northern  wild   there  's  one 
Who  long  hath  sighed  with  vain  regret, 

While  mem'ry  brings  again  the  tone, 
She  never,  never  can  forget. 

A  tuneful  soul  to  her  was  given, 
And  in  the  vocal  choir  she  joined, 

To  raise  devotion's  note  to  heaven, 

While  tranquil  peace  beamed  o'er  her  mind. 

And  friendship's  and  affection's  voice, 
With  thrilling  accents,  moved  her  soul ; 

Earth  seemed  a  scene,  deep  fraught  with  joys, 
Where  smiling  pleasures  held  control. 

But,  ah  !  one  sad,  one  fatal  hour, 
While  hopes  and  smiles  were  beaming  gay, 


15 

Misfortune,  with  unfeeling  power, 
Swept  every  joyful  sound  away. 

No  more  can  mellifluous  note 
Of  sacred  song  fall  on  her  ear  ; 

Nor  more  can  she  with  joy  devote 
A  social  hour  to  friend  most  dear. 

With  flowing  tear  and  heaving  sigh 
She  roams  thro'  Autumn  fields  alone, 

And  oft  she  lists  with  wishful  eye 

To  hear  the  gay  fledged  songster's  tone. 

But  cheerless  silence  is  her  lot, 

And  anxious  care  and  wasting  woe, 

As  lett  to  meditative  thought, 

She  says,  "  My  God  !  why  was  it  so  ?" 

And,  lady  !  thou  for  her  hast  sung — 
For  Hartford's  poor  and  hapless  child  : 

Again,  then,  let  thy  harp  be  strung 
To  sing  of  E in  northern  wild. 


LINES 

Addressed  to  a  volatile  young  lady. 


I  saw  a  rose  bud  opening  fair, 
And  dew  drops  glittered  on  its  stem ; 

Sweet  violets,  too,  were  rising  there, 
Yet  it  scarce  deigned  to  look  on  them. 

But  proudly  waving  high  its  head, 
Seemed  to  defy  the  blighting  powers, 

And  said,  "  I  shall  not  droop  and  fade 
Like  other  less  attractive  flowers.'1 

I  saw  admirers  round  it  move, 

All  flattering  its  loveliness, 
While  each  declared  unchanging  love 

For  the  fair  flower,  with  fond  caress. 

Again  I  saw  that  floweret — 

Its  lovely  bloom  was  all  decayed 

And,  scattered  round  the  violet, 
Its  faded  leaves  neglected  laid. 


17 

And  no  admirer  now  was  there 
To  drop  the  tear  of  fond  regret ; 

But  O  !  I  saw  them  bending  where 
In  brightness  bloomed  the  violet. 

flfe  sweetly  bloomed  thai  lovely  flower  ; 

0&  modest — lively — gaily  shone, 
As  when  the  rose,  in  primeful  hour, 

Deigned  not  its  kindred  tie  to  own. 

And  thus  that  maid,  who  seeks  to  shine 
And  in  false  colors  blazon  forth 

Shall  see  her  influence  decline, 
And  tribute  paid  to  modest  worth. 


2* 


LINES 

Addressed  to  Mr.  S — and  Mrs.  E.  Chamberlin  on  the  death  of  their  only  child. 


I  had  a  little  lovely  flower — 
'Twas  sweet,  and  passing  fair, 

I  tiaw  it  budding  every  hour, 
With  promise  rich  and  rare. 

I  loved  to  culture  and  to  prop, 

Till  it  became  my  pride, 
My  solace,  and  my  cheering  hope, 

I  had  no  flower  beside. 

Thus  while  I  nursed,  it  gaily  throve, 

My  cares  were  all  repaid, 
For  Oh  ! — this  object  of  my  love, 

Was  a  sweet  smiling  bale. 

How  was  my  heart  then  torn  with  grief, 

When  first  I  saw  it  fade, 
And  fondly  sought  t'  afford  relief, 

While  in  my  arms  it  laid. 


19 

But  Ah  !  twas  vain — in  death  it  slep£ 

And  all  my  joys  were  o'er 
With  bleeding  heart,  I  sat  and  wept, 

But  saw  my  flower  no  more. 

Oh !  ye  whov'e  felt  the  chastening  rod, 
Think  what  was  then  my  stay — 

I  called  upon  my  saviour  God, 

And  save  my  babe  away. 


AMERICA'S  INVITATION  TO  POLAND. 


I  The  authoress  has  felt  a  lively  interest  in  the  fortunes  of  Poland  since 
the  days  when  in  childhood,  she  casually  took  op  and  perused,  Miss  Por 
ter's  "  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw."  The  impressions  then  received,  are  nat  to 
be  erased.  The  following  is  a  recent  effusion.] 

Son  of  Poland  ! — welcome  thou  ; 

Welcome  to  our  happy  home, 
No  victor's  wreath  entwines  thy  brow, 

Yet  noble  patriot  come — Oh  come. 

We  have  a  wreath  that  thou  may'st  wear, 

A  wreath  by  Kosciusko  won, 
Who  to  our  foe,  his  breast  Laid  bare, 

And  fought  beside  our  Washington* 

He  fought — he  conquered,  and  his  name 

Is  pass  word  for  his  nation's  sons, 
And  thou  shah  share  that  brilliant  fame— 

Yes — thou  and  all  thy  homeless  onee. 

Come  bring  thy  daughters,  bring  thy  wives. 
Our  sisters,  shall  their  sistera  be, 


21 

And  we  '11  protect  them  with  our  lives, 
Then  come  Polander,  come  be  free. 

No  tyrant's  chain  shall  thrall  thee  here, 
Nor  petty  prince's  galling  yoke, 

No  ties,  to  wring  the  heart's  warm  tear, 
Shall  wantonly  be  torn  or  broke. 

America,  hath  open  arms — 
For  every  patriot  son  on  earth, 

And  liberty,  with  all  its  charms, 

She  claims,  and  boasts  its  natal  birth. 

Then  come  Polander,  leave  thy  chains, 
Our  starry  banner  waves  for  thee, 

And  we  have  cities,  prairies,  plains 
With  peace,  and  plenty — come  be  free. 


The  following  lines  were  addressed  to  a  stranger,  on  receiving  a  commu 
nication  signed  H.  A  M.  VV. 


"  Life  cannot  all  be  pleasure," 

The  truth  I  know  too  well, 
And  sorrow   hath  no  measure, 

Its  bitterness  to  tell. 
But  there's  a  soothing  power, 

A  cordial  for  the  smart, 
'Tis  not  from  drug  nor  flower, 

But  from  the  stranger's  heart. 

No  language  hath  expression, 

To  give  that  charm  its  due, 
Nor  even  can  suppression 

Withhold  it  from  the  view ; 
It  shines  in  every  feature, 

Of  him  that's  free  from  art, 
It  blesses  every  creature 

And  e'en  the  stranger's  heart. 


23 

'Tis  sympathy  for  sorrow, 

The  pearl  is  most  divine, 
A  ray  it  doth  not  borrow, 

Tho'  brilliantly  it  shine. 
Blest  is  the  heart  to  feel  it, 

More  blessed  to  impart, 
And  heaven  will  not  conceal  it, 

But  bless  the  stranger's  heart. 


TO    MISS    M.  T.  C- 

A  birth  day  present. 


See,  Mary  see — the  dawn  appears 

The  day  is  opening  to  our  view, 
It  seals  a  lapse  of  fleeting  years, 

Since  we  were  blessed  with  sight  of  you. 

The  new  robed  spring,  with  cheering  smile, 
Salutes  the  morn  with  vernal  flowers 

And  little  birds  pour  forth  the  while 
A  greeting  song,  with  all  their  powers. 

Oh  may  thy  life,  like  this  fair  day, 

Be  blest  with  hopes,  and  cheered  with  smiles, 
Virtue  attend  thee  on  thy  way 

To  soften  all  thy  cares  and  toils, 

Yet  while  these  wishes  fond  I  give, 
I  pause,  and  fain  would  moralize — 

Behold  the  flowerets,  how  .they  thrive  ! 
And  Ah !  they  fade  before  our  eyes. 

These  sensual  pleasures  meet  our  view, 
And  charm  us  by  their  vived  glow, 


25 

But  seek  for  joy,  and  Ah  'tis  true, 
We  find  them  but  a  gaudy  show. 

'Tis  virtue  only  can  impart 

To  the  young  bosom,  pure  delight ; 
Ennoble,  and  refine  the  heart, 

A.nd  guide  the  mind  to  moral  light. 

Then  Mary — view  the  fragile  flower, 
But  place  no  hope  in  its  frail  bloom 

'Twas  formed  to  wither  in  an  hour ; 
But  virtue  will  survive  the  tomb. 


TO  MY  SISTER  MARIA. 


Tho'  distance  my  sister — our  faces  divide, 
And  'tween  us  rolls  widely,  Champlain's  noisy  tide  ; 
Yet  the  ties  of  affection  unsundered  remain, 
There's  nought  can  dissever  it's  sweet  golden  chain. 

I  turn  me  to  moments,  now  vanished  and  sped, 
When  I  shared  in  thy  cottage,  and  shared  in  thy  bread  ; 
When  thy  foster  hand  soothed  in  affliction's  dread  hour, 
Oh  the  mild  balm  of  sympathy; — heavenly  power. 

TJhen,  thy  children  came  smiling,  "  a  love  kiss"  to  crave 
And  told  of  the  sweet  one,  just  gone  to  her  grave  ; 
And  thy  husband,  with  truth  beaming  bland  from  his  eye 
Prescribed  a  oheer  cordial,  for  tear  and  for  sigh. 

There  are  scenes,  on  which  memory  delighteth  to  dwell ; 
Emotions.,  nor  absence,  nor  distance  can  quell ; 
Where  fraternal  affections  have  played  on  the  soui, 
And  domestic  enjoyments  held  perfect  control. 

Then  sister — tho'  doomed  from  thy  presence  to  pine 
My  prayer  is  forever,  for  thee  and  for  thine— 
May  adversity  never  more  visit  thy  cot  ; 
But  hdpe,  and  sweet  peace,  and  content  be  thy  lot. 


SOLILOQUY, 

At  the  grave  of  a  sister — addressed  to  Mrs.  M.  P. 


Again  sweet  Laura,  at  thy  tomb, 

The  tributary  tear  I  pay; 
Still  mem'ry  views  thee,  in  thy  bloom 

Yet  see's  that  blooming  fade  away. 

Sad,  solemn  hour  !  can  I  forget 
When  o'er  thy  wasting  form  I  stood  ? 

Thine  eye's  fast  waning  beam  I  met, 

And  dewed  thy  cheek  with  sorrow's  flood  ? 

No  mother's  soothing  voice  was  there, 
To  cheer  thee  on  thy  path  way  home  ;  v 

Our  father,  and  our  brother  dear, 
We  looked ; — but  oh  !  they  did  not  come. 

With  one  sweet  sister — yet  a  child — 

I  watched  beside  thy  dying  bed  ; 
When  Oh  ! — my  heart,  with  anguish  wild, 
Wished  I  had  laid  there  in  thv  stead. 


28 

But  sister,  now  thy  pangs  are  o'er, 

Thy  dust  reposes  'neath  this  sod, 
And  I  shall  see  thee  here  no  more, 

For  thou  hast  gone  to  meet  thy  God. 

To  meet  our  sainted  mother  too, 

Ali  !  yes  and  never  more  to  part ; 
Sweet  Laura  ! — sister  dear,  adieu  ! 

And  hush  emotions  of  my  heart. 

I  would  not  wish  thee  back — ah  no — 
For  futile  are  earth's  pleasures  all  : 

But  I'd  prepare  me  hence  to  go, 
And  meet  thee  at  my  saviour's  call. 

I'll  plant  around  thy  grave  fresh  flowers, 

And  where  to  Heav'en  I've  knelt  and  prayed ;- 

When  time  shall  close  my  mortal  hours, 
Loved  one  near  thee  may  I  be  laid. 


TO  THE  APPROACHING  COMET 


Oh  !  thou  dread  visitor — whence  dost  come  ? 

And  whither  goest  thou  with  thy  train  ? 
For  threescore  years  and  ten — thy  home  ? — 

Why  comest  to  nether  climes  again  ? 

Thou  seemest  a  wanderer,  without  shore  ; 

Unlinked — unknown — impelled  by  chance  : 
No  calculator  can  explore 

Thy  swift  departures  and  advance. 

Fleetly  thou  movest,  yet  whence  or  why, 

Is  not  for  human  ken  to  name  ; 
And  tho'  in  haste,  who  dare  imply, 

That  thou  hast  either  end  or  aim. 

Thou'rt  not  unlike  misfortune's  child, 
Placed  on  an  earthly  hemisphere  ; 

And  doomed  to  trace  its  deserts  wild, 
Sore  dreaded  in  fay  'lorn  career. 


30 

Like  thee,  unfixed,  and  much  inclined 
To  wander  from  the  source  of  light — 

But  for  that  power,  who  all  things  binds, 
Were  lost  in  everlasting  night. 

And  to  that  power,  on  wing  of  time, 
Like  thee  he  hastes,  a  rest  to  find  ; 

Enters  at  last  a  changeless  clime, 
But  leaves  thee,  to  expire  behind. 


TO- 


Thou  art  gone — may  the  bark  that  conveys  thee  away 
Be  the  care  of  the  God  of  the  .billow  ; 
When  darkness  succeeds  the  bland  smile  of  the  day, 
May  angels  watch  over  thy  pillow. 

If  error,  thou  deemest,  thy  footsteps  have  trod — 
Then  bow  thee,  in  lowly  contrition  ; 
Invoke  the  forgivness  of  men  and  of  God 
And  find  in  sweet  virtue,  fruition. 

The  wounds  of  thy  heart,  to  sott  soothing  may  yield, 
And  thy  bosom  yet  thrill,  to  a  pleasure, 
When  spring  sends  her  smiles,  and  the  garden  and  field 
Are  teeming  with  Flora's  rich  treasure. 

Then  sadness  may  flee,  at  the  strains  of  delight. 
And  thy  bosom  forget  its  rude  wringing ; 
The  "  thought  of  the  past"  may  decline  in  its  might, 
And  thy  heart  tuned  to  pleasure  be  singing. 

Thus  fondly  my  wishes  to  thee  must  extend. 

That  blessings  may  'liven  thy  bosom ; 

The  guardian  angel !  thy  almighty  friend  ! 

And  thy  heart  cheered  with  hope's  thriving  blossom. 


THE   POLISH    DAUGHTER. 

[  Supposed  to  have  retired  with  her  mother,  a  few  miles  into  the  coun 
try,  to  avoid  the  terrors  of  an  expected  attnek  npon  Warsaw,  and  is 
awaked  from  sleep  by  the  sound  of  Cannon.] 


Hearest  thou  ought,  upon  the  soft 
The  whispering  breeze  of  morn  1 — List ! 
Mother  list ! — 'tis  war  !     Oh  !  direful  sound  ! 
The  dreaded  conflict  hath  burst  forth, 
And  father — brother — where  are  they? 
Warsaw  ! — thou  art  my  hope. — Within 
Thy  sacred  walls,  myall  of  earth  is  pent, 
Except  thee  ; — mother !  nought  without  its  bounds 
Hath  power,  to  charm  or  win  one  soft  affection, 
Nor  to  chain  me  to  the  love  of  life. 

Sweet  native  scene ! 

There  first  my  breath  I  drew,  and  with  my 
First  perceptions  learned  in  virtue's  path  to  tread. 
In  after  years,  I,  from  the  borders  of  that  path, 
Culled  odoriferous  flowers,  and 
Interwove  a  wreath,  then  by  ambition  led, 
I  wooed,  and  with  it  crowned  immortal  ecrenoe. 


33 

Tiiere  too,  I  learned  to  love, — and  with  that  passion, 

I  imbibed  a  hale.     Not  for  my  brethren 

Of  the  Polish  band,  but  Russia's  lord,  who 

Through  the  might  of  power  sought  t'  enslave  us. 

My  Edward,  was  a  patriot,  and  at  sight 

Of  human  wrongs,  his  soul  took  fire. 

Commissioned  to  the  field  he  went, 

And  as  a  mark  of  pure  regard,  chose 

For  his  aid  my  only  brother.     Now — 

Mid  that  battle's  fiery  din,  where  the 

Dread  Cannon  peals,  their  youthful  valors  tested. 


Oh  mother !  hear 
My  trembling  hope  grows  faint— 
My  heart  is  sick  ! — for  Ah  !  e'en  now, 
Wild  fancy  brings  upon  my  ear,  the 
Deathly  groan — the  frantic  scream, 
The  call  for  mercy,  and  my  lathers — 


'Tis  stilled— 

My  God  ! — my  gracious  God  ! — has  Warsaw 
Fallen  ? — are  Poland's  struggles  o'er? 
Are  we,  the  widowed — wphaned — doomed 
To  bow,  as  Russia's  humbled  slaves? 
Ah  !  sooner  send  us  death.     And  if  to 
'•  Father"  a  response  no  more  shall  corne 


34 

Nor  smile  on  brother  meet  heart  felt    return. 
Nor  lovers  true  "embrace,  then  may  Pauline, 
Rest  in  her  early  grave.     And  Mother  ! 
Stay  not  thou  behind. — Elude  a  tyrant's 
Grasp,  and  meet  in  Heaven  thy  kin, — Heaven ! 
The  one  spot,  where  tyrant  and  oppressor  may 
Not  come,  where  martyrs  to  a  sacred  cause 
At  freedom's  shrine  who  fell, 
Shall  wake  to  peace,  and  everlasting  joy. 

#  *  *  *  # 

A  messenger  approaches 

Fleet  he  comes — woe  !  woe  !  is  on  his  mien, 

Speak  not — thou  wretched  one  ! — I  know  it  all — 

— Yet  tell  me — does  my  father  live  ? — 

My  brother —  and — my  Edward.     "  All — all 

Have  found  a  grave — and"  stop — no  more  ! 

Mother  farewell  ! — no  sword  of  steel 

Hath  clove  my  heart,  but  sorrow  rives  its  strings. 

France  !  shall  I  curse  thee  ? — And 

Thou,  America  ,  whose  sister  arm 

Nerved  by  the  deeds,  a  Kosciusko  wrought 

We  fondly  hoped,  outstretched  would 

Save  us  from  this  doom — thou  hast 

Looked  on  to  see  us  perish,  and  the  blood, 

That  crimsons  Warsaw's  soil,  will 

Rise  to  cry  "  ingrate — " 

Wide  yawned  the  opening  grave, 

And  Poland's  fair,  rests  low  with  Poland's  brave. 


LINES 

Occasioned  by  the  sudden  death  of  Capt.  W.  G.  Corbin,  who  died  at  Port 
.Lawrence,  Mich.  August  1831,  aged  26  years,  leaving  a  bereaved  wife  and 
infant  daughter  sick  in  a  strange  land,  to  mourn  his  untimely  death. 


Lo  !  from  yon  distant  western  wild 
A  plaintive  note  assails  our  ear — 

Hark  I — 't  is  the  wail  of  sorrow's  child — 
Arise,  ye  feeling  souls  and  hear. 

"  Oh  distant  friends — to  you  I  call, 
Behold  me  in  my  widowed  state  ; 

Beside  me  lifeless,  lies  my  all — 
My  William  !— Oh  relentless  fate  ! 

But  yesterday — in  healthful  bloom, 
He  wept  to  see  my  faded  cheek  ; 

And  feared  for  me,  an  early  tomb, 

And  our  sweet  babe,  so  low  and  weak. 

But  lurking  death  stole  softly  in, 
And  while  we  slept,  took  fatal  hold  ; 

I  waked,  and  turned  my  eyes  to  him, 
But  ail !  I  saw  him,  dead,  and  cold. 


With  countless  tears,  I've  dewed  his  cheek, 
And  heared  my  babe  on  "  Father"  call ; 

He  heeds  it  not,  he  does  not  speak, 
He's  gone — my  love — my  life — my  all, 

My  all  ,'obtmt ! — my  arms  doth  cling 
One  treasure  yet  to  bind  me  here, 

A  little  helpless,  orphaned  thing  ; 
To  blend  with  mine,  its  flowing  tear. 


Unwelcome  art  thou  stranger  band  ! 

Whence  will  ye  tear  my  love  ? — Oh  say — 
Make  not  his  grave  in  this  strange  land, 

While  kindred  ones  are  far  away. 

— Tis  o'er — they've  torn  him  from  my  sight, 
In  Michigan  they've  made  his  bed  ; 

I  dread  thee, — oh  !  thou  land  of  blight, 
Where  are  thy  bright  illusions  fled  ? 

I  turn  me  from  thy  scenes  away, 
I  leave  the  grave  of  him  most  dear ; 

Thou  hast  no  charm  to  win  my  stay, 
Thou  hast  no  sympathetic  tear. 

First  let  me  plant  a  woodbine  there, 

And  there  I'll  plant  the  fragile  rose  ; 
A  willow  waves  already,  where 

His  sacred  relic's  now  repose. 


37 

'Tis  done — and  stranger,  fare  thee  well ! 

I  feel  a  sense,  I  cannot  speak ; 
Who  shall  my  heart's  emotions  tell, 

While  I  a  homeward  passage  seek. 

Where  parents,  tears,  with  sisters,  blend, 
Where  brother  sighs  and  weeps  alone  ; 

And  sorrowing  walks  abroad  the  friend, 
To  meditate  on  scenes  by  gone. 

Thou  God !  who  hear'st  rny  bitter  moan, 
Oh !  in  thy  tender  mercy  deign 

To  bless  these  trials  of  my  own, 
And  ease  the  absent  mourner's  pain. 


"FAIR   M  O  N  T  G  O  M  E  R  Y." 

Addressed  to  Miss    E.  Clapp,  a  much  valued  friend  of  iho  authoress' 


There  is  a  vaie — to  me,  tis  dear, 

Where  Goodspeed's  dwelling  stands  ; 

For  there  I  met  a  friend  sincere, 
In  sweet  Arcadian  lands. 

r     • 

<io\v  oft  in  mein'ry  1  retrace 
The  hour  so  dear  to  me  ; 

n  first  I  hailed  that  rural  place, 
In  "  fair  Montgomery" 

There,  through  a  grassy  meadow  green, 

A  streamlet  winds  it  way ; 
Imparting  magic  to  the  scene, 

On  each  sweet  summer's  day. 

And  O  1  I  love  to  call  To  mind, 

The  shady  ashen  tree, 
Whose  blossoms  play  upon  the  wind, 

In  "fair  Montgomery." 


I 


39 

Sweet  birds  upon  its  branches  sing, 
And  make  melodious  noise  ; 

While  perching  round  on  fairy  wing, 
They  tell  their  harmless  joys. 

And  there  Eliza  sits  to  think, 
Beneath  the  "sacred"  tree  ; 

That  grows  upon  the  river's  brink, 
In  "  fair  Montgomery." 

To  share  that  seat  with  thee, 
And  friendly  fancy  e'en  at  times, 
Hath  sped  me  o'er  the  lea. 

While  all  enraptured  I  have  smiled, 

Thy  native  scenes  to  see  ; 
Where  gently  flows  the  river  wild, 

In  "  fair  Montgomery." 

But  summer's  sweets  are  now  decayed, 
The  mead^has  changed  its  hue  ; 

The  blooming  tree,  is  disarrayed, 
And  birds  away  have  flew. 

That  stream  assumes  a  sullen  look, 

And,  on  its  surface,  see 
The  blighted  honors  it  hath  took 

From  "  fair  Montgomery," 


,  f 

40 

Well — changing  seasons  have  their  course, 
And  flowers  are  swept  away  ; 

But  friendship  shall  not  feel  their  force, 
Nor  wither, — nor  decay. 

The  rivers,  they  may  wax  and  wane. 

And  blossoms  leave  the  tree  ; 
But  dear  Eliza,  thou'lt  remain, 

And  dear  "  Montgomery." 

I 


\ 


u 

TO    MY    MOTHER. 


Mother  !  thou  art  not  gay  as  once, 

A  thoughtful  cast  hangs  o'er  thy  brow  ; 

I  see  thee  sigh,  with  full  response, 
To  woes  that  thrill  my  bosom  now. 

Ill-fated  from  my  youth, — thou  hast, 
By  kind  affection,  sought  to  cheer  ; 

To  throw  oblivion  on  the  past,     . 
And  dissipate  the  future's  fear. 

Much  do  I  owe  thee — much  I  dread, 
That  thou  mayest  leave  me  in  this  vale  ; 

For  blossoms  gather  on  thy  head, 
And  nature'?  powers  perceptive  fail. 

How  could  I  'dure,  to  port  with  thee, 

What  breast  like  thine,  my  hopes  could  stay 
What  bopom  flow  with  love  so  free, 

What  power  my  heart's  warm  rush  allay. 
4* 


42 

I  know  my  wiles  have  given  pain, 
That  I  have  wounded  deep  thy  breast 

That  reparation  is  in  vain, 
And  wishes  fond  must  be  suppressed. 

But  Mother!  thou  art  more  to  me, 
Than  all  beside  earth  can  impart ; 

And  while  thy  waning  powers  I  see, 
It  binds  thee  closer  to  my  heart. 


- 

LINES 

[Addressed  to  the  senior  editor  of  the  "  North  Star"  on  the  death  of  his  wife,  j 


A  low  sound  of  sorrow  hath  passed  through  our  valley, 
And  mortals  awaking  give  ear  to  the  sound, 

The  note,  and  its  echo,  reverberates  daily — 
Imparting  a  gloom  through  the  cottages  round. 

Yon  "  North  Star"  is  clouded,  yet  faintly  is  beaming, — 
Arise  child  of  spmpathy,  follow  its  ray  , 

It  leads  to  a  scene,  where  the  tear  fast  is  streaming, 
O'er  one  who  lies  tranquil  and  cold  in  her  clay. 

And  Oh  ! — there's  a  heart  that  intensely  is  bleeding, 
As  on  the  pale  ruin  he  looks  and  he  sighs ; 

Her  spirit,  as  slow  from  the  world  'twas  receding, 
More  valued,  more  lovely,  appeared  to  his  eyes. 

No  more  will  the  smile  which  returned  his  affection. 

Relieve  of  its  sadness  his  sorrowing  heart; 
Nor  more  will  the  voice  which  he  sought  for  direction, 

With  meekness  and  candor  its  wisdom  impart. 


Oh  !  weep  thou  'lorn  mourner— a  loss  such  as  thine  is 
Demands  from  the  stranger  a  pitying  tear ; 

But  her  name  on  the  record  of  virtue  divine  is, 
And  long  will  her  mem'ry  be  cherished  and  dear. 

Though  low  in  the  cold  grave  her  dust  lie  reposing, 

A  spirit  so  noble  can  never  decay  ; 
But  like  the  tired  sun  when  at  eve  he  is  closing, 

She  '11  rise  in  a  new,  a  more  beautiful  day. 

Where  care,  pain,  and  sorrow,  shall  never  have  entrance, 
Where  stars  are  unclouded,  eternally  bright ; 

Where  frailty  shall  never  more  call  for  repentance, 
Each  bosom  abounds  with  pure  joy  and  delight. 


TO  A  LADY, 

Who  had  addressed  a  "Sympathetic  Lay"  to  the  authoress,  through  the 
medium  of  a  newspaper. 


Ah !  gentle  stranger ! — who  art  them  ? 

With  tones  so  sweet,  that  movest  the  lyre- 
Say,  art  thou  earthly  ? — O,  then  how 

Should  angels  thus  thy  lay  inspire  ! 

Yes, — I  have  heard  thy  magic  strain, 
Reverberation  thrilled  my  heart ; 

Like  cordial  it  hath  soothed  my  pain, 
And  gently  bade  despair  depart. 

Like  him*  of  old,  of  ancient  date. 
Who  listened  to  a  "  David's1'  lay ; 

While  'neath  an  evil  power  he  sat, 

Till  it  was  charmed  and  driven  away  ; — 

Thus  have  I  listened  to  thy  tones, 

While  clouds  of  darkness  veiled  the  sky  ; 

Till  they  have  stilled  my  murmuring  groans, 
And  light  and  hope  I  did  descry. 
*King   Saul. 


46 

Say  stranger,  then — say,  who  art  them  ? 

With  heart  of  nature's  finest  mould ; 
Methinks  thou  hast  a  noble  brow, 

A  mind  whose  treasures  are  untold. 

I  would  my  thanks  thou  should'st  receive ; — 
And  ladyknow  that  "  sorrow's  child," — 

Should  future  ills  her  bosom  grieve, — 

Will  think  of  her,  who  soothed  and  smiled. 

But  fare  thee  well ! — I  haste  away,* 
Yet  on  my  mind  engraved  shall  be 

Thy  sympathetic,  friendly  lay  ; 
Till  death's  cold  hand  shall  rest  on  me. 

And  may  that  power  which  rules  above, 
Bless  thee,  with  his  especial  care  ; 

May  friendship — hope — sweet  peace  and  Zote, 
Dwell  in  thy  heart,  and  flourish  there. 


*The  authoress  was  leaving  St  Lawrence  County,   for  the  place  of  her 
nativity. 


THE  GREEN  MOUNTAIN  CHIEF 


He  stood  in  his  prime,  and  there  hung  on  his  brow 
A  wreath  that  was  fadeless  and  blooming  ; 

He  took  from  its  blossoms  a  boon  to  bestow, 
Yet  its  graces  were  hourly  resuming. 

And  there  gleamed  from  his  eye  a  radient  beam, 
Like  the  lightning  that  flashes  on   ether  ; 

His  soul  soared  so  lofty,  that  mortal  might  deem 
He  sprang  not  from  regions  so  nether. 

And  fondly  the  crowd  came  to  gladden  their  chief, 
While  a  smile  he  was  gently  returning  ; 

The  widow,  the  orphan,  implored  a  relief, 
And  gratitude  silenced  their  mourning. 

The  "  daughter  of  sorrow"  with  tear  bedimed  eye, 
Bowed  lowly,  and  told  her  affliction  ; 

Inhaled  a  sweet  balm,  from  his  tear  and  his  sigh, 
And  a  smile  lighted  on  her  dejection. 

No  belt  of  gay  wampum,  his  tall  figure  graced, 
No  hatchet — no  pipe,  and  no  feather ; 

Benevolence  moved  the  main  spring  of  his  breast, 
Where  the  virtues  all  flourished  together. 


CHILD    OF    VIC  ISSITU  D  E. 


<-d 

and 


Deep  in  a  labyrinth  of  maizy  wild, 
Where  mountain  rose  on  mountain, 
Th'  aspiring  fir  sought  rivalship 
With  sister  pine,  and  under  their  green  foliage, 
Rivers,  winding,  took  their  curbless  course, 
And  tributary  rills  lent  music  to  the  whole  ; 
Met  I  one  who  was  misfortune's  fated  child, 
Yet  not  by  course  of  nature,  but  by  stern  adoption. 

Born  in  this  wild,  and  cradled  by 
Its  streams,  the  young  Elvina  grew  ; 
Preceptress,  had  she  none,  save  simple 
Nature,  and  her  lessons  were  no  task, 
For  innate  fondness  marked  her  way. 

Bright  were  her  morn  of  days,  when 
The  sweet  nightingale  at  evening 
Lulled  to  quiet  rest,  and  the  gay  lark, 
Perched  on  her  casement,  waked 
From  flowery  dreams — of  cares 
She  had  but  few,  for  knowledge  soared  aloft, 


49 

And  came  not  to  the  mountain  glen  ; 
And  education  sought  the  classic  dome,—*    ^ 
The  city,  or  gay  town,  nor  stooped  to  ,dWW  J  t  •-  *-  - 
Her  costly  robe,  in  rustic  cot. 

But  smiling  friendship  op'd  her  arms, 
And  sweet  affection  me-C'  return 
From  gentle  heart  of  Myra. 
Nursed  was  the  maid  in  Academic  bowers, 
And  had  become  of  science's,  the 
Wealthy  mistress.     Sweet  was  the 
Interchange  of  thought  between  two  souls 
Where  fortune  had  decreed  entire  reverse  ; 
The  one,  all  knowing — deep — refined  and  generous  ; — 
The  other,  simple,  gay,  imaginary, 
Soft,  and  feeling,  yet  from  the  other, 
Each  a  store  of  useful  knowledge  gained. 

N  w  joy — unclouded  joy 
Ran  through  Alvina's  heart,  nor  wish 
Had  she  in  store.     Each  hour  came 
Fraught  with  new  delights,  and 
Friendships  multiplied.     Even  adulation's 
Dulcet  strains  upon  her  ear  were  poured ; 
And  sounded  was  her  name  from 
Glen  to  glen  ;  and  fairy  dreams,  and 
Gilded  hopes,  and  fancy's  spells, 
Her  path  illumined ;  and  future  days  as 
5 


50 

'<  t*.  •  ^^F 

Through  a  mirror  seen,  were 
Laded  with  fresh  joys. 

Deluded  maid  !  how  little  did'st 
Thou  know  of  earth, — how  false  its 
Colours  shone.    The  forest  deep,  no 
Shelter  hath,  no  barrier,  and  no  charm 
To  lure  misfortune  from  her  destined  track  ; 
Tho'  hopes  to  day  unclouded  beam  upon  thy  path, 
To-morrow's  sun  may  meet  them  blight. 

The  lesson  this  Elvina's  doomed  to  learn, 
The  swelling  music  of  the  mountain  wide, 
The  river's  full  toned  song,  the  merry  lay 
Of  laughing  rill,  and  bleating  of  the  lamb, 
And  lowing  of  the  herd,  with  concert 
Of  etherial  choir,  and  Myra's  gentler  voice, 
Shall  thrill  thy  ear  no  more.     A  mandate 
From  the  "King  of  Kings"  by  unseen  spirit  borne. 
Lays  on  thy  ear  a  seal,  and  saith, — 
"  Remain!  till  time  with  thee  is  o'er." 

Oh  !  man ! — who  e'er  thou  art,  trust  not  in 

Fortune's  smiles.     Vicissitude,  awaits  thee 

Every  step,  and  blest  is  he,  who  when  his  hopes 

Are  seared  and  chill  adversity  frowns  on  his  path 

Shall  find  in  sympathy  a  cordial,  and 

In  hope  a  star,  to  guide  him  thro'  t'lese  scenes  of  change 

To  heavenly  portals. 


TO    EDWARD, 

[On  leaving  his  native  place,  for  the  purpose  of  acquiring  a  liberal  edu 
cation.] 


Oh !  fare  thee  well ! — and  may  kind  heaven 
Safely  guide  thee  on  thy  way  ; 

And  may  that  much  loved  star  of  even 
Lend  its  influential  ray. 

Thou  goest  to  tread  the  paths  of  science, 
And  to  cull  the  fadeless  flowers  ; 

To  bid  dark  ignorance  defiance, 
By  thy  mind's  unfolding  powers. 

Then  may  the  voice  of  wisdom  lead  thee, 
From  the  flights  of  passion  free  ; 

May  thy  active  genius  speed  thee, 
To  thy  heart's  much  wished  "  degree." 

Yet  the  ties  which  long  have  bound  thee, — 
To  this  v.ll  — shall  not  be  rent ; — 

Fonder  friends  will  ne'er  surround  thee, — 
Nor  the  like  serene  content. 


52 

But  when  in  after  years  returning, — 
The  fond  welcome  smile  to  meet ; — 

Then  friendship's  torch  shall  yet  be  burning, 
And  thy  youthful  haunts  be  sweet. 

Grim  death  may  in  thy  absence  revel, — 
On  some  hearts  by  thee  held  dear ; — 

O'er  yon  green  field's  broken  level, 
Thou  mayest  shed  affection's  tear. 

But  may  that  hope  which  lights  thy  bosom, 
That  pure  ray  of  love  divine  ; — 

Still  with  unfading  verdure  blossom, — 
Through  the  chilling  frosts  of  time. 

Fare  thee  well ! — God  grant  to  meet  thee, 
On  this  trasient  shore  of  time  ; — 

But  Oh  it  not,  then  may  I  greet  thee, 
la  a  heavenly,  happier  clime. 


TO  MISS   A.  M.* 

Thovi  art  upon  this  earthly  wild, — 

An  orphan, — and  thy  lot  is  drear,  ; 
Yet  thou  art  placid,  meek,  and  mild, 

And  gently  striv'st  to  hide  the  tear. 

Oh  !  who  can  view  thee,  in  thy  bloom, 

And  see  thy  kind  soul-speaking  eye ; 
And  say  not,  "  why  hath  grief  so  soon 

Wrung  from  that  heart  the  mourner's  sigh  ?" 

Full  early  thou  hast  learned  of  earth, 

That  hope's  fair  promise  doth  deceive ; 
And  those  of  high  and  noble  birth, 

Alike  with  humbler  souls  must  grieve. 

Oh  !  mayest  thou  gentle  maid  pursue 

The  path  of  virtue  thou  hast  trod  ; 
Thy  mind's  improvement  still  in  view, 

Till  thou  art  called  to  meet  thy  God. 

*This  amiable  young  lady  (of  Newark  N.  Y.)  expired  five  months  subse 
quently  to  this  address,  and  but  two  weeks  after  her  marriage,  in  consequence 
of  prief  for  the  loss  of  near  relatives. 
5* 


NAVAL    SONG. 


When  Britain  fired  with  savage  rage, 
A  sister  nation  did  engage  ; — 
When  hill  and  plain  and  sandy  shore, 
Were  stained  with  floods  of  human  gore.- 

Not  far  trom  Champlain's  craggy  side, 
McDonough's  fleet  was  seen  to  ride  ; 
While  Downie  pleased  his  foe  to  meet, 
In  hostile  row  approaced  his  fleet. 

And  manful  hearts  beat  quick  and  high, 
As  they  the  solemn  scene  descry  ; 
And  hastening  onward  sought  the  strand, 
Or  height,  that  prospect  might  command. 

One  gentle  form — with  glossy  hair, 
Came  too,  the  mournful  view  to  share  ; 
Clad  in  a  wedding  robe — her  eye 
Cast  upward,  while  she  thus  did  cry. 

"  Oh  God  of  mercy !  hear  my  prayer  ! 
Let  my  Philander  be  thy  care ; 


55 

And  grant  him  strength  to  act  his  part, 
But  guide  the  death  shot  from  his  heart. 

Yet  as  thou  wilt — and  I'll  be  still, 
And  own  the  justice  of  thy  will ; 
But  should  thy  goodness  deign  to  spare, 
Thy  mercy  ever  I'll  declare." 

— But  Oh !  the  cannon's  horrid  din, 
Resounds,  and  quick  resounds  again ; 
A  trembling  seizes  every  limb, 
Pallid  her  cheek,  her  eye  grows  dim. 

Mute  as  the  rock,  on  which  she  sate, 
To  wait  the  dread  approach  of  fate ; 
No  murmur  'scaped,  no  sigh  was  heard, 
Her  God  was  just,  and  him  she  feared. 

But  hark !  those  peals  victorious  sound, 
A  victor  sure  his  way  hath  found  ; 
McDonough  !  thine  must  be  the  day, 
For  heaven  had  marked  thy  b  tter  way. 

Yes — comes  the  bearer — "  tidings  new  ! 

McDonough,  with  his  gallant  few, 

A  victory  complete  did  gain, 

While  Downie,  with  his  aids  are  slain." 

Elvira,  long  with  grief  oppressed, 
Now  feels  the  load  forsake  her  breast ; 


56 

Philander  comes — with  laurel  crowne'd, 
And  shouts  from  hills  and  vales  resound. 

And  mountains  took  the  echo  too, 
And  heralds  on  fleet  pinions  flew  ; 
Whilst  all  Columbia's  sons  proclaim, 
Their  hero  in  McDonough's  name. 


I 


Addressed  to  a  kinswoman  whom  I  had  never  seen. 


Thou  friend  unseen  though  far  away, 
Yet  doth  innate  affection  rise  ; 

And  lighted  on  by  fancy's  ray, 

Weaves  round  thy  heart  its  kindred  ties. 

I  would  my  eye  could  rest  on  thine, 
And  read  the  movings  of  thy  soul ; 

I  would  thy  heart  could  fathom  mine, 
And  see  what  floods  of  anguish  roll, 

But  ah  !  thy  lot  by  fortune  cast, 
Is  by  lake  Erie's  fertile  shores; — 

And  mine,  within  the  mountains  fast, 
Where  Boreas  wild  and  loudly  roars. 

Yet  doth  each  soil  alike  produce 

The  finer  feeling  of  the  mind, 
Nor  will  my  Mary's  heart  refuse 

This  simple  lay — so  unrefined, 

I  would  not  murmur  at  my  lot, 
Though  tears  bedew  my  daily  bread  ; 


58 

If  through  "afflictions  furnace"  brought, 
With  heavenly  hopes  I  may  be  fed. 

Oh !  may  I,  that  sweet  solace  share, 
Which  from  the  smile  of  Jesus  flows  ; 

And  place  my  hopes  in  regions  where 
Unknown  are  sorrows,  care,  and  woes. 


' 


• 

MY   NATIVE  MOUNTAINS 


My  native  mountains  !  in  thy  deep 
Thy  wid'ning  shades,  much  doth  my  heart 
Delight  to  roam.     Thy  health  fraught  breeze, 
Thy  varied  sunbeam — opening  flower, 
Progressive  plant,  and  trick'ling  rills, 
Have  charms  to  glad  my  soul. 
How  sweet,  at  early  dawn,  along 
Thy  leafy  glens  to  skip,  when  waked, 
From  fairy  dreams,  the  serial  tribes 
Pour  forth  enchanting  lays.     I  love 
The  river's  winding  course  to  trace, 
And  on  its  flowery  bank  to  sit  me  down, 
With  alders  rust'ling  o'er  my  head, 
And  there  to  watch  the  passing  stream 
Till, — lost  in  reverie  profound, 
I  seem  the  mystic  "course  of  time" 
To  scan.     Or  ever  and  anon, 
Upon  the  tide  a  pebble  cast, 
And  sinking,  minds  me  of  oblivion's  power. 


60 

Let  cities  boast  their  mimic  arts, 
Their  mossy  domes,  their  glittering  spires, 
And  smoky  atmosphere,  and 
Citizens  with  restless  eye,  and  mind 
With  care  distraught,  while  from 
Those  giddy  scenes  remote,  we 
Tax  the  powers  of  intellect,  or  beck, 
The  muse,  as  skipping,  light 
From  dell  to  dell,  she  dips  in  crystal  stream 
Her  golden  cup  and  meeds  to 
Untaught  \vight_a  draught  as  rich, 
As  ever  flowed  from  famed  Castato's  fount. 

Parnassus,  is  not  in  our  range, 
Tis  true,  nor  do  our  muses  court  its 
Dizzy  heights.     No  cloud  caped  Andes, 
No  Himmelah,  nor  Arrarat  we  boast, 
But  a  fraternity  of  mounts, 
Renowned  afar,  as  virtue's  shield, 
As  vice's  barrier,  as  science's  friend, 
As  health's  preservative,  and  freedom's  soil. 

Sweet  wakes  the  morn  ! 
I  see  its  auburn  locks  now  changed, 
They  glow  with  burnished  gold, — and  now 
Appears  above  yon  orient  height 
Her  dazzling  eye  ;  creation  leaps, 
With  joy — the  milk  maid  seeks 


61 

The  fold,  while  to  the  field  the  ploughman  hies, 
The  student  to  his  walk,  and  pleased, 
The  invalid  peeps  forth  and  smiles. 


But  lo ! 

The  breakfast  horn,  with  its  shrill  note, 
Peals  through  the  vales,  and  from  the  hills, 
Echoes  its  sweet  response. 
My  native  mountains  !  much  are  ye 
Revered.    In  your  formation  grand, — 
Your  varied  scapes  and  gushing  streams, — 
I  see  the  hand  of  the  Almighty. 
Yon  glassy  lake,  whose  bosom  bears 
The  lightsome  bark,  was  his  design. — 
He  gave  it  form  and  marked  its  bounds  ; 
We  reverence  his  name, — his  power ; 
And  while  with  filial  love,  we 
View  these  scenes  with  countless  * 
Blessings  fraught,  Oh !  let  us  humbly, 
Give  the  praise,  where  all  is  due. 


TO    MARY, 

On  removing  to  a  Instance. 


Farewell  I  'tis  with  regret,  I  : 

But  thou  must  go,  the  world  to  pa-re  ; 
While  oft  the  tear  will  moist  thy  check. 

Retracing  scenes  with  those  youac- 

A.  parent's  guardian  roof  to 

To  sever  ties  that  bind  tb 
Will  not  thy  feeling  bosom  grove, 

And  yield  a  tributary  tear  ? 

Yet  why  indulge  the  tender  spell, 
Since  we  are  born  to  separate  ? 

How  oft  resounds  the  sad  "farev 
With  happy  meeting  alternate. 

But  may  thy  tears  sweet  girl  be  few, 
Where  e'er  thy  fortune  be  to  rove  ; 

Each  new  found  friend  be  kind  and  true, 
And  blessings  to  thy  young  heart  prove. 

Oh  then  farewell! — -farewell'  I  say, 
May  heaven  bless  you  while  you  live, 

And  when  you're  absent — far  away^ 
My  virtues  love — ray  faults  forgive. 


A   FRAGMENT. 


I  saw  her  once — and  she  was 
Loveliness  itself.     Her  dark  eye,  beaming  through 
Tiio  silken  lashes  of  her  brow,  seemed 
To  bespeak,  at  the  first  glance,  all  the 
Rich  ma  Y  of  her  pure  soul.     In  full 
Array,  at  once  there  beamed, 
Truth,  friendship,  pity,  and  mild  love  ; 
Yes,  and  her  very  look,  seemed  as  'two  uld 
Blight  deception,  and  her  poisonous  train. 

Her  form  was  slender,  and  of  sprightly  make, 
And  through  the  maizy  dance  would  wind,' 
With  fairy  step,  her  way,  delighting  each  beholder  ; 
Her  voice  was  music  to  the  ear, — 
And  the  pure  sentiment  it  did  impart, 
Was  life,  was  light,  was  joy,  to  him  who  listened  ; 
And  there  was  one,  who  long  the 
Magic  of  her  voice  had  felt,  whose 
Very  soul  seemed  to  exist  by  gazing  on  her  charms, 
She  knew  it  not,  but  smiled,  and 


64 

In  her  artless  winning  way,  became, 

As  his  own  sister  free.    The  gay  flowers — 

Dripping  in  their  dew  she  culled, 

And  formed  a  wreath  to  grace  his  head, 

The  rose,  her  favorite  flower,  above 

The  rest  she  placed  conspicuous, 

And  its  sweet  loveliness  did  bid 

Him  'mi*<,  and  how — the  first  of  its 

f    f- 
Surrounding  train — it  drooped  its  head, 

And  withered.     Racked  with  foreboding 

Sense  of  some  impending  ill,  his  nights  became 

Of  measured  length  and  sleepless.     But  fortune 

Cast  on  Celadon  her  frown,  and 

Doomed  he  was,  to  leave  the  vale, 

Where  Mary  dwelt.     In  prime 

Of  health,  of  beauty,  -and  of  power,  he  left  her, 

And  when  to  his  lips  the  dreaded 

"  Farewell !"  came,  he  sighed  and  faultered ; 

Emotions  struggled  in  his  breast,  that 

Seemed  to  say  "  I  cannot  live  without  you !" 

And  yet,  the  modest  bashfulness  of  youth, 

Forbade  him  to  reveal  his  ardent  love. — 


Few  months  had  past — 
When  forth  to  watch  the  moon's  pale  beam, 
He  went, — "  And  does  she  too,  fair  orb, 


* 


1 


65 

Note  thy  pale  face,  and  air  serene  ?" 

— A  sound !  falls  on  his  ear, — tis  Mary's  knell  on  the 

Soft  night  breeze  borne, — and  hope  with 

One  high  bound  burst  forth  from  his  lorn  heart, 

And  took  its  fatal  flight.     Years  now  away 

Have  rolled, — on  mortal  things  have 

Placed  their  seal ;  and  seasons  changed  their  course, 

And  Flora  decked  in  flowers  the  earth, 

Yet  doth  that  blight,  that  withering  dream 

Chain  with  fixed  gaze  on  one  sweet  star,  his  eye, 

He  calls  it  Mary,  and  before  the  shrine 

Pays  homage  constant  and  divine. 


6» 


THE   IRISH   EMIGRANTS. 

[The  following  lines  were  suggested  by  the  appearance  of  a  family  of 
indigent  Irish  Emigrants,  who  were  taken  in  and  provided  for  by  the  lady 
of  Gov  Crafts,  whose  benevolent  character,  is  well  known  to  the  public.] 


To  our  dear  friends  in  Erin,  we  gave  the  last  parting, 
And  sighing,  set  sail  for  the  "  new  world"  afar, 

Our  bosoms  were  heaving,  the  fond  tear  was  starting, 
But  we  saw,  and  we  followed,  a  bright  beaming  star. 

And  long  we  were  tossed  on  the  wide  foaming  ocean, 
E'er  anchored  in  safety  light  rested  our  bark  ; 

Our  bosoms  were  throbbing  with  lively  emotion, 
When  first  we  were  landed  in  happy  New  York. 

But  no  door  was  opened  with  "  welcome"  to  hail  us, 
As  homeless,  and  friendless,  we  passed  through  the  street ; 

Dispair  had  already  begun  to  assail  us, 
We  bitterly  sighed  for  some  happy  retreat. 

But  the  sweet  star  that  led  us,  we  followed,  tho'  weary, 
And  o'er  the  Green  Mountains  we  took  our  lone  way; 

Our  famishing  babes,  in  our  arms  strove  to  carry, 
And  toiled  on  our  journey  through  many  a  day. 


67 

At  last,  when  frail  nature  was  drooping  and  tiring, 
When  far  from  our  friends,  and  our  dear  native  shore 

With  hunger  and  w^jt^jjgs,  almost  expiring,    '|  ...      * 
A  lady  took  pity  and  opened  her  door. 

She  welcomed  us  all  to  her  hearth  cheerly  blazing, 
And  spread  on  her  table  a  bountiful  store  ; 

Then  while  on  our  faces  so  palid  was  gazing, 

She  wept,  and  she  said,  "  you  shall  wander  no  more. 

The  sweet  star  of  hope,  by  which  we  were  guided, 
Stood  over  this  mansion,  and  beamed  most  divine  ; 

For  our  ease  and  our  comfort,  she  quickly  provided, 
And  bade  us  no  longer,  at  hardships  repine. 

With  grateful  emotions  our  bosom's  are  swelling, 
Our  infants  are  lisping  and  prattling  the  same  ; 

Of  her,  who  has  found  us  a  home  and  a  dwelling, 
Afar  from  the  land  of  oppression  and  shame. 

May  the"  smiles  of  prosperity  ever  attend  her, 
And  free  be  her  bosom  from  sorrow  and  care ; 

May  guardian  angels  watch  o'er  and  defend  her, 
Thus  fervent  shall  rise  the  poor  emigrant's  prayer. 


TO  MISS . 

[The  reader   will  perceive,  on  a  preceding   page  an    effusion    of  similar 
ideas,  in  a  different  dress.] 


I  saw —  in  afresh  fiowrel  bed, 
A  poppy,  rear  its  haughty  head ; 
A 'id  overlooking  other  flowers, 
Displayed  its  fascinating  powers. 

Attracted  by  its  dazzling  hue, 
Admirers  crowded  round  to  view  ; 
Inhaled  its  opiate  powers,  and  stood 
Entranced  in  admirative  mood. 

Beneath  it,  a  mild  violet  grew, 
And  shrinking  from  the  public  view  ; 
It  bloomed  in  colours  rich  and  bright, 
And  was  Queen  Flora's  chief  delight. 

Yet  unassuming  was  its  mien, 
Where  every  modest  grace  was  seenj 
While  the  vain  poppy  waved  its  head, 
And  strove  t'immure  it  in  the  shade. 


69 

At  length  a  wise  discerning  youth 
Exclaimed — "  more  vanity  than  truth." 
Then  in  disdain  cast  down  his  eye, 
And  the  lone  violet  did  descry. 

"  Sweet  flower"  said  he,  "  so  mild,  so  meek, 
I  read  thy  virtues  on  thy  cheek  ; 
And  there's  a  beaming  in  thy  eye, 
That  tell  me  of  thy  constancy." 

Here  may  that  proud  assuming  maid, 
Who  modest  worth  fain  would  degrade  ; 
In  the  vain  flower  a  semblance  see, 
Of  what  in  time  her  fate  shall  be. 


TO    "  S  A  D  I." 

The  following  pieces,  may  perhaps  require  explanation.  A  person,  un 
known  to  the  authoress,  having  frequently  presented  his  productions  to 
the  public  over  the  assumed  name  of  "Sadi  j"  some  of  whicfrwere  peculiarly 
interesting  ;  she  took  the  liberty  to  address  the  annexed  verses  to  him. 
which  met  with  the  following  gratifying  reply  ;  which  was  as  the  writer 
assures  her,  composed  forty  feet  above  the  deck  of  the  vessel  on  board 
which  he  was  a  passenger,  and  on  the  broad  atlantic  ocean,  to  the  Ore 
gon  Country  on  Columbia  River. 


Farewell !  ye  dear  muses, — no  longer  I'll  court  you, 
For  Sadi  has  rivalled  your  favors  from  me  ; 

No  shadow  of  comfort  have  I  to  resort  to, 

But  yield  up  their  favors  sweet  songster  to  thee. 

When  sorrows  have  preyed  on  my  heart  so  unceasing, 
The  muses  had  pitied  and  promised  their  smile  ; 

But  finding  my  genius  to  them  was  unpleasing, 
They  left  me,  and  lured  thee,  from  Scotia's  fair  Isle. 

Ah  !  sweet  flow  thy  numbers,  thou  son  of  the  lyre, 
What  heart  unaffected  shall  list  to  thy  strain ; 

And  who  to  excell  thee  shall  vainly  aspire, 
Nor  sink  to  thy  magical  numbers  again. 


71 

Our  passions  awaken,"  our  hearts  are  on  fire, 

While  thou,  so  pathetic,  "  lorn  Grecia"  dost  paint ; 

And  as  the  deep  feeling,  the  soul  we  admire, 
We  view,  in  our  "Sadi,"  an  angel  or  saint. 

Sing  on  favored  songster — e'en  woodlands  shall  greet^thee, 
And  thy  lays  shall  resound  on  thy  own  native  plains  ; 

And  spirit  of  Burns  in  thy  musings  shall  meet  thee, 
To  mingle  in  concord,  his  soul  moving  strains. 


THE  ANSWER. 


Ada — once  more,  at  thy  request,  the  muse, 
The  fond  companion  of  each  bitter  hour, 

To  thee  awakes, — clad  not  in  rainbow  hues, 
Nor  in  the  strength  of  Byron's  mighty  power. 

For  faint  and  feeble,  still  must  be  the  lay, 
That  Sadi  warbles  from  his  rustic  lyre  ; 

No  sparks  of  genius  can  his  muse  display, 
No  Hallock's  wit,  nor  Pierpont's  sacred  fire. 

Yet  'tis  enough  that  thou  hast  asked  a  song, 
That  I  my  harp  should  once  more  string  again ; 

'Tis  breaking  vows,*  but  vows  can't  bind  me  long, 
When  genius  asks  but  for  a  single  strain. 

Ada — I  love  the  name  which  thou  dost  choose, 
To  give  beneath  thy  offerings  for  fame  ; 

It  must  be  dear  to  every  poet's  muse, 
While  Byron's  daughter  bears  thy  borrowed  name. 

*I  had  said  that  I  would  rhyme  no  more. 


73 

And  for  his  sake  the  name  I  would  revere, 
Or  aught  that  e'er  he  loved  when  hope  was  strong  ; 

Save  her*  who  urged  him  on  his  wild  career, 
And  cast  her  mildew  on  the  "  child  of  song." 

But  Ah  !  this  sounds  not  like  a  song  to  thee, 

Yet  thoughts  will  come  and  crowd  upon  the  brain ; 

From  whose  dread  power  my  mind  I  cannot  free, 
For  come  they  will  and  mingle  with  my  strain. 

Then  smile  not  though  I  wander  from  my  theme, 
Nor  think  that  reason  from  her  throne  hath  fled  ; 

Griefs  may  corrode  the  heart,  and  yet  some  beam 
Of  reason  hover  round  the  Wand'rers  head. 

Had  I  thy  powers  of  song  I'd  wake  a  lay, 
That  should  be  worthy  such  a  pen  as  thine  ; 

For  all  thy  merits  I  could  then  display, 

And  bid  thy  genius  sparkle  through  each  line. 

But  little  favored  by  the  tuneful  nine 

Am  I,  sweet  warbler,  for  my  muse  to  dare, 


*I  would  not  be  understood  to  say  that  his  wife  alone  caused  all  his 
aberations  from  the  path  of  rectitude  after  their  separation,  but  would  say 
that  through  her  conduct,  he  was  driven  from  the  land  of  his  nativity,  and 
had  it  not  been  for  this  circumstance  he  would  not  have  left  it.  Conse 
quently,  the  most  censurable  errors  of  his  life  would  not  have  been  com 
mitted,  for  Italy  was  the  scene  of  his  greatest  follies,  and  these,  under 
different  circumstances,  it  is  not  probable  he  would  have  been  guilty  of  in 
England. 

7 


74 

Survey  the  depths  of  poesy's  bright  mine, 
And  bring  to  light  the  gems  that  slumber  there. 

Ada  !  farewell !  may  all  thy  coming  years 
Be  calm  as  I  will  wish  them.     May  thy  heart 

Ne'er  taste  of  sorrow.     May  no  cloud  of  fears 
Bedim  thy  vision,  throughout  life's  dull  part. 


RESIGNATION. 


Thou,  God  of  all — who  hold'st  my  fate, 
Dark  are  thy  ways  and  intricate  ; 
Too  deep  thy  wisdom  and  designs 
For  ken  of  our  rebelious  minds. 

But  oh !  may  this  be  e'er  in  sight, 
Thy  righteous  ways  are  just  and  right  ; 
What  e'er  thy  wisdom  shall  decree, 
May  we  exclaim  "  so  let  it  be." 

Since  we  are  atoms  of  thy  dust, 

Thy  goondess  we  would  not  distrust ; 

But  bow  submissive  to  thy  will, 

\nd  charge  our  murmuring  hearts  "  be  "still.' 

Should  thy  stern  mandate  e'en  descend, 

To  rive  us  of  an  CBe  friend  ; 

'Tis  well,  may  we  at  once  exclaim, 

"  Thou  gav'st  and  tkou  hast  took  the  same.'" 


76 

And  should  thy  hand  itself  appear, 
To  blind  the  eye,  or  close  the  ear  ; 
Yet  firm  and  safe  we  then  may  rest, 
And  lean  us  on  a  "Jesus's  Breast". 

And  were  our  blessings  all  removed, 
Were  tut  our  hearts  by  thee  approved  ; 
We  in  thy  praises  would  unite, 
And  sing  "  thy  ways  are  ever  right." 


REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  SEASONS. 

TO    MISS   H.    M.    S. 


Maria — see'st  the  spring  advancing  ? 

Hear  the  full  toned  choral  lay; 
See  the  lambkins  gaily  dancing, 

And  behold  the  wild  flower  gay. — 

E'en  in  breasts  enchained  to  sadness, 
Fancy's  spell  such  bonds  can  break  ; 

Welcome  universal  gladness, 
Let  each  grateful  sense  awake. 

O  !  then  how  must  thy  feeling  bosom 

Throb  with  ecstacy  supreme  ; 
Bending  o'er  the  budding  blossom, 

Lost  in  hope's  delusive  dream. 

For  Oh !  this  rising  verdure  round  us, 
Soon  will  fade  'neathe   summer's  glow  ; 

And  the  scenes  where  pleasure  bound  us, 
Scarce  a  trace  of  beauty  show, 


78 

Tims  the  spring  of  life  hath  met  us, 
Giv'n  our  cheek  its  vernal  bloom ; 

But  when  summer's  suns  beset  us, 

Life's  vigorous  hours  shall  with  them  come. 

Autumn  too,  with  frost  is  hast'ning, 
We  must  droop  beneath  his  power  ; 

Precious  hours  how  fast  the're  wasting, 
Like  the  drops  of  sunny  shower. 

Winter  stern  will  soon  be  closing, 
All  our  powers  to  him  consigned  , 

We  in  silent,  grave  reposing, 
Cares  and  pleasures  left  behind. 


LINES. 

[While  on  a  journey  to  the  west,  where  every  face  was  strange,  ti;c  ,u; 
thoress  accidentally  met,  in  a  canal  boat,  a  young  lady,  who  like  herself,  w  as 
doomed  to  suffer  the  painful  deprivation  of  hearing ;  an  interview  with 
whom  gave  rise  to  the  following  lines.] 

• 


Stranger  !  list  the  mourner's  wail, 

And  pity  sure  shall  I  receive  ; 
Come  patient  hear  my  mournful  tale, 

Tho'  sad  its  truth,  thou  may'st  believe. 

The  child  of  joy  I  sported  gay, 

E'er  grief  had  my  young  pathway  crossed  ; 
And  blithsome  came  each  hope  fraught  day, 

Of  treasured  tears  none  had  I  lost, 

Oh  !  happy  hours  !  oh  days  of  peace  ! 

When  friendship  marked  me  for  her  own ; 
Aff',  ction  too  conferred  its  bliss, 

And  I  was  as  the  "gayest"  known. 

Why  were  such  hours  to  mortals  given, 
To  mould  their  hearts  to  earthly  charms  ; 

And  why  of  every  fond  hope  riven, 
•'  The  illusion  just  within  their  arms." 


80 

Alas  !  there  is  in  earthly  things 
No  steady  hope,  no  trust,  no  stay  ; 

Each  pleasure  hath  its  unseen  wings, 
To  bear  its  transient  gleams  away. 

Thus,  when  my  brightest  day  had  come, 
A  sudden  cloud  obscured  the  sky  ; 

Unceasing  raged  the  fatal  storm, 

Till  "  wrecked! "  was  the  loud  piercing  «ry. 

From  that  dread  hour  a  wand'rer  I, 
Far  from  the  sound  of  vocal  strain  ; 

And  strangers  weep,  to  hear  me  sigh 
For  sounds,  that  ne'er  can  charm  again. 

Yet  as  I  passed,  I  met  by  chance, 
One  who  was  fortune's  favorite  ; 

I*FHjTely  was  his  inheritance, 
A  man  of  fame,  of  power,  of  might. 

f  asked  him  for  a  pittance  small 
To  cheer  me  on  my  lonely  way ; 

He  frowned,  and  gave  me  none  at  all  ; 
Thus  left  my  heart  to  care — a  prey. 

Then  stranger  ! — ask  me  not  my  name, 

It  is  enough  for  thee  to  know  ; 
A  favored  child  on  earth  I  came, 

And  now  I  wear  these  weeds  of  woe. 


SONG. 


Why  slumbers  my  lyre  when  the  cold  winds  are  blowing, 
And  nature  lies  drooping  beneath  the  rude  blast  ? 

The  floweret  that  late  was  so  fragrantly  glowing, 
Upon  the  rude  sod  in  dishonor  is  cast. 

I  weep  for  thy  fate,  Oh  !  thou  loved  summer  flower, 
So  soon  thou  art  wasted,  thy  sweets  all  decayed ; 

Thou  art  fall'n  in  thy  prime,  in  the  height  of  thy  power, 
And  low  in  the  tomb,  all  thy  promise  is  laid. 

Thus  Mary  was  fated — a  flower  of  rare  beauty, 
She  burst  on  our  sight,  onr  affections  she  won  ; 

So  smiling,  so  artless — so  cheerful  to  duty, 

So  charming,  so  tender,  and  Heav'nly  her  tone. 

But  the  blight  worm  crept  softly  and  hid  in  her  bosom, 
True  love  was  its  source,  she  fell  sweetly  a  prey  ; 

Tears  have  been  shed  o'er  our  favorite  blossom, 
But  sorrow  and  death  have  now  swept  it  away. 


82 

Oh  man  ! — was  thy  bosom  of  adamant  cold  ? 

Or  why  was  no  tear  seen  to  rise  at  her  fall  ? 
Thy  years  yet  to  come,  shall  in  sorrow  be  told, 

For  He  who  is  wisdom  takes  notice  of  all. 

The  sigh  of  the  mourner,  and  each  tearly  token, 

Is  carried  to  Heav'n  on  sacred  record ; 
So  the  sins  of  the  wretch,  who  his  own  vow  hath  broken, 

Will  rise  to  condemn  and  ensure  a  reward. 


LINES, 

[On  seeing  a  young  lady  who  was  deaf  and  dumb.] 


Ah  !  who  art  thou, — smiling  so  gay, 

As  if  thou  a  grief  ne'er  had'st  known? — 

Was  misfortune  thy  parent  ?— oh  say, 
And  under  her  hand  hast  thou  grown  ? 

O !  maiden,  how  kind  was  that  fate, 
That  markedjthee  a  path  so  secure — 

Tho'  lonely — no  dangers  await, 

Nor  ought  thy  young  heart  to  allure. 

Nor  friendship,  nor  music,  have  charmed 
Thy  ear  which  so  dormantly  grew  ; 

Nor  anger,  nor  pride,  have  alarmed 
Thy  heart  whose  digressions  are  few 

Deception  thou  never  hast  feared, 
Nor  felt  in  thy  bosom  its  pain ; 

The  songs  of  the  vale,  hast  not  heard 
And  sighed  for  the  music  again. 


84 


Then  why  should  that  heart  ever  mourn, 
Which  has  nothing  on  earth  to  regret ; 

And  how  can  it  sigh  for  return, 
Ofpleasures  its  fancy  ne'er  met. 

No — free  as  thy  heart  is  from  care — 
So  free  is  it  also  from  guile  ; 

And  maiden — thou  ever  wilt  share 
High  heaven's  beneficent  smile 


TO   LOUISA, 


Louisa — see,  with  drooping  heart, 
I  come  to  take  my  leave  of  thee  ; 

For  native  scenes,  I  now  depart, 
And  never  more  thy  face  shall  see. 

How  can  I  leave  thee  thus,  Ah!  me — 
Who  shall  my  heart's  emotions  tell ; 

This  charming  ville*  no  more  to  see, 
To  bid  one  long,  one  last  farewell. 

Oh  I  must  oft  again  recall, 

Sweet  hours  when  we've  so  gaily  met ; 
The  garden,  Woodbine — willow,  all — 

E'en  little  blooming  Antonette. 

To  thee  may  future  days  be  blest, 
Thy  even  path  way  strewed  with  flowers ; 

No  thorn  e'er  rankle  in  thy  breast, 
Nor  cloud  to  shade  thy  sunny  hours. 


*Newark,  NY. 
8 


86 

When  I  am  far  from  this  loved  land, 
Where  Erie's  waters  ne'er  shall  flow, 

Beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam  I'll  stand, 
While  thought  like  shooting  star  shall  go. 

And  in  thy  bower  I'll  greet  thee  still, 
And  him  thy  loved  and  chosen  one, 

While  joy  my  saddened  heart  shall  fill, 
From  hours  and  days,  forever  gone, 


TO    MRS.    L.    D. 

[On  the  death  of  her  infant  ion.] 


Stay — stay,  oh  ruthless  death,  thy  dart, 
View  but  thy  victim,  and  relent ; 

Pierce  not  that  pure,  that  sinless  heart, 
Wreck  not  that  lovely  tenement. 

In  vain  the  tyrant  power  I  crave, 
The  mandate  stern  is  from  above ; 

He  hastes  his  victim  to  the  grave, 
And  breaks  the  fondest  ties  of  love. 

Oh  Laura !  hush  thee, — though  the  while 
Thy  sorrow  should  be  most  intense  ; 

Mercy  doth  on  the  mourner  smile 
Behind  a  frowning  providence. 

And  yet — to  see  the  clay  cold  form, 
And  where  the  smile  so  sweetly  played ; 

To  press  no  more,  that  cheek — that  arm, 
Nor  pillow  on  thy  breast  its  head. 


88 

Sure  the  warm  tear  unbid  may  flow, 
The  heart  yield  up  its  deepest  sigh  ; 

And  nature  droop  beneath  its  woe, 
Till  reason  bid  thee,  look  on  high. 

There,  through  that  eky  of  azure  blue, 

Where  twinkling  stajs  in  clusters  ahjne  ; 
There  is  a  dwelling  meets  our  view 
All  bright,  all  heavenly,  all  divine. 

Where  infant  voices  loudly  swell, 
In  accord  with  the  elder  throng 

Who've  bid  this  tiring  earth  farewell ! 
And  joined  the  hallelujah  song. 

Then  mourner,  bending  'neatji  the  rod, 
Ask  then  thy  bleeding  heart,  and  say, — 

Is  there  upon  this  earthly  sod, 

Aught  that  was  worth  thy  infant's  stay  ? 

Me  thinks  I  hear  thee  say,  "  Ah !  no,," — 
And  fare  thee  well !  my  idol  flower  ; 

Thou  hast  escaped  an  age  of  woe, 
By  blighting  in  untimely  hour. 

Go  to  thy  lonely  rest,  and  I 

Will  strew  fresh  flowrets  rouud  thy  tomb ; 
While  faith  directs  above  mine  eye, 

Thy  mem'ry  in  my  heart  shall  bloom. 


TO 


I've  bid  thee,  adieu  !  but  I  cannot  forget, 

St  Lawrence's  calm  bosom,  the  scene  where  we  met, 

Nor  my  heart's  rapid  beat,  when  thou  cailedst  me  thy  friend, 

And  did  thy  protection  and  friendship  extend. 

While  Ontario's  waters  I  brave  now  again, 
I  look  for  thy  smile  to  encourage  in  vain ; 
I  look  for  a  friend — but  oh !  where  shall  I  find, 
A  heart  that's  so  noble,  so  generous,  so  kind. 

Where  e'er  thou  shalt  rove,  the  fond  wish  shall  attend, 
That  kind  Heaven  may  bless  my  protector  and  friend, 
And  grant  him  when  life  shall  be  on  its  dull  wane, 
A  heart  free  from  sorrow,  from  care  and  from  pain. 

I  leave  thee,  but  when  I  forget  thee,  may  I 

Be  forgotten  by  him  who  directs  in  the  sky  ; 

When  I  think  of  thy  waters,  St  Lawrence,  sweet  stream  ; 

My  eye  with  a  sister's  affecUon  shall  gleam. 


LINES, 

[Addressed  to  Mrs.  E.  C.  of  the  Hartford  Asylum,  who  i«  both  d«af  and 
dumb.] 


The  northern  blast  has  ceased  to  roar, 
And  spring  again  resumes  her  reign  ; 

The  giddy  snows  are  seen  no  more, 
But  verdure  robes  the  hill  and  plain. 

Mild  morn  awakes,  and  with  her  smiles 
Invites  us  o'er  the  flow'ry  fields  ; 

Spring's  beauties  now  the  sight  beguiles, 
And  pleasing  admiration  yields. 

O,  come  Eliza — haste  with  me, 

And  to  the  meadow's  stream  repair, 

Where  nature's  wonders  we  may  see, 
"  Above — below— in  earth  or  air." 

Behold  the  leaves— the  blossoms  view, 
No  plush  so  soft,  no  silk  so  fine — 

No  chemist's  dye  gives  such  bright  hue, 
No  weaver  thus  can  threads  entwine, 


91 

And  see — there  nobler  statues  stand, 
Their  towring  tops  invade  the  sky ; 

And  planted  firm  by  nature's  hand, 
They  the  fierce  winds  of  heaven  defy. 

On  yond  green  hillock  see  how  gay 
The  little  lambkins  sport  and  dance  ; 

How  blithly  pass  their  hours  away, 
Emblems  of  virtuous  innocence. 

Oh  hark !  in  yonder  shady  grove 

Have  tuneful  songsters  raised  their  note  ; 
Deep  fraught  with  harmony  and  love, 

Does  it  upon  the  soft  air  float. 

Alas  !  dear  friend — we  list  in  vain, 
Nor  note,  nor  sound  affects  our  ear, 

And  oh,  their  sweet  enchanting  strains, 
We  never — never  more  shall  hear. 

But  hush,  our  sighs — we'll  murmer  not, 
Since  we  unnumbered  charms  can  view ; 

And  though  to  hear  be  not  our  lot, 
We'll  see  and  praise  our  maker  too. 


TO   C 


Why  does  so  oft,  the  silent  tear, 

Thy  pallid  cheek  bedew  ? 
Thou  art,  to  ev'ry  bosom  dear, 

And  hast  of  cares  but  few. 

And  yet  thou'rt  drooping,  pale,  and  sad, 

While  all  around  are  gay — 
Can  nought  thy  pensive  bosom  glad, 

And  while  thy  glooms  away  ? 

Is't  for  the  joys  that  early  sped, 
Which  mem'ry  calls  to  view  ? 

Or  are  thy  tears  so  often  shed, 
For  one  who  was  untrue  ? 

Oh !  check  the  tear — it  may  not  fall, 
Since  there's  supreme  decree 

A  God,  who  wisely  ordered  all, 
E'er  time  began  to  be. 


93 

All  yet  may  end  in  good — and  we, 
Though  left  in  darkness  now ; 

Superior  wisdom  yet  shall  see, 
And  to  that  wisdom  bow. 

Though  grief  a  while  may  hold  its  sway, 
And  nature  droop  and  mourn  ; 

Yet  to  bright  joy  it  shall  give  way, 
And  happiness  return. 


TO    MARIA 


Sweet  maid  !  now  in  thy  morn  of  years, 
Like  op'ning  rose,  as  sweet  as  fair  ; 

Undimed  thy  eye,  by  sorrow's  tears, 
Unknown  thy  heart  to  grief  or  care. 

O,  may  stern  virtues  early  spring, 
Upon  thy  heart's  warm  genial  soil, 

And  fruits  abundant  hourly  bring, 
Rewarding  a  kind  mother's  toil. 

'Tis  education  forms  the  mind, 
And  virtue  to  it  lustre  gives  ; 

When  Sense  and  feeling  are  combined, 
They  form  the  tender  sympathies. 

How  vain  is  all  external  show, 
Without  a  treasure  in  the  mind, 

'Tis  like  the  meteor's  transient  glow, 
Or  the  more  noisy,  empty  wind. 


95 


As  opening  years  shall  wane  away 
Leaving  upon  thy  brow,  their  trace 

May  thy  mind's  beauty  ne'er  decay, 
Nor  give  to  vice  nor  folly  place. 

Maria — shall  I  wish  thee  more  ? 

Then  may  it  be  a  mind's  content — 
And  when  thy  passing  hours  are  o'er 

A  consciousness  of  time  well  sp 


ELEGY, 

[On  Dick,  a  poor  old  horse,  who  *as  shot.] 

'Tis  done — the  tragic  scene  is  o'er, 
A  cruel  hand,  the  weapon  aimed ; 

And  Dick  has  fell,  to  rise  no  more. 
Poor  Dick— Old  Dick,  the  halt  and  maimed. 

But  once  he  was  both  young  and  gay, 
With  nimble  feet  and  graceful  form, 

He  pranced  around  in  chaise  and  sleigh, — 
Well  fed  and  stabled  from  the  storm. 

His  carriage  was  admired  indeed, 

The  praise  of  many  he  did  win, 
He  was  the  "  ready  friend  in  need" 

And  roguish  mood  was  never  in. 

But  life's  a  stage  of  varied  scene, 
And  hours  of  joy  as  soon  are  past, 

As  midnight's  light  and  airy  dream, 
Too  vivid  and  too  loved  to  last. 


97 

And  thus  proud  Dick,  thy  fate  hath  proved, 
For  when  misfortunes  round  thee  spread  ; 

Thy  former  favors  were  removed, 
And  friends  deserted  thee  and  fled. 

Nor  «•*  nor  blanket  now  for  thee, 
Turned  out  to  meet  the  chilling  blast ; 

No  pitying  eye  thy  wants  to  see, 
And  think  upon  thy  favors  past. 

Depressed  with  hunger,  thirst  and  cold, 
Thy  trembling  limbs  are  useless  grown  ; 

The  murderer  lifts  his  rifle  bold, 

Aims  at  thy  life,  nor  deeds  thy  moan. 

Oh ! — ingrate  mortals— selfish  crew  ;— 
When  will  reflection  tame  your  breasts  ? 

When  things  in  their  right  order  view, 
And  learn  to  pity  the  distressed  ? 


LINES, 

[Written  in  a  shady  grove,  under  a  pine  tree.] 


Sweet  tranquil  vale  ! — here  oft  I'll  stray, 
Oft  here  will  bend  my  lonely  way, 
And  'neath  thy  foliage  meditate 
On  human  hopes  and  ruthless  fate. 

A  lone  recess  from  noise  so  free, 
My  muse  !  O  come  along  with  me, 
And  here,  beneath  this  waving  pine, 
A  wreath  to  gather,  we'll  entwine. 
Yet  not  for  critic's  eagle  eye, 
A  wreath  to  twine  will  ever  try ; 
"Bui  friendship  shall  our  lay  receive — 
For  her  a  garland  we  will  weave — 
'Twill  not  adorn  her  modest  brow, 
But  she'll  accept  it  any  how. 

But  why  so  sad — so  lonely  here  ? — 
No  sound  of  aught  salutes  my*ear, — 
Why  are  the  lively  songsters  mute  ? 
To  what  shall  I,  the  change  impute  ? 


Since  all  so  fair,  thy  leafy  spray — 
Why  should  contentment  flee  away  ? 

Ah  !  lonely  vale — thou  soon  wilt  find 
A  weight  of  grief  hangs  on  my  mind, 
And  every  airy  sigh  of  thine 
Shall  echo  the  heart-felt  of  mine  ; 
And  faster  too,  thy  flowers  may  rise, 
Bedewed  with  dew  drops  from  my  eyes. 

Above  my  head  I  see  so  gay — 

A  songster  sits  upon  the  spray — 

Oh  !  cease  sweet  warbler,  cease  thy  note, 

No  ear  to  y#«  can  I  devote, 

No — I  can  never  list  to  thee, 

Arise  sweet  songster — rise  and  flee. 

Yet  stay — thou  charmer — stay  and  sing 

Of  pleasures  fleet  as  thine  own  wing, 

Of  blighted  hopes — of  withered  joys, 

Of  saddened  heart,  sick  of  vain  toys, 

The  mournful  theme  could'st  thou  but  sound 

And  tell  where  lasting  joys  are  found  ; 

Each  pasing  youth  would  I  implore, 

To  stay,  and  hear  thy  song  .hrice  o'er ; 

Could  they  but  hear  the  truthful  tale, 

Temptations  seldom  would  prevail, 

And  they  would  learn  in  time,  to  shun 

False  pleasures,  e'er  they  were  undone  ; 


100 

Nor  place  their  hopes  in  things  below, 
Where  all  is  a  vain,  noisy  show — 
But  Ah  he's  fled — as  swiftly  flew 
My  hopes — the  joys  I  had  in  view. 
But  n:t  like  him,  will  they  return, 
A  pilgrim,  through  earth's  vale  I  mourn, 
And  sound  no  more  shall  reach  my  ear, 
My  sad,  my  silent  way  to  cheer. 

Never  ? — Oh  yes — there  comes  a  day, 
When  earthly  scenes  shall  pass  away — 
When  the  "  Loud  trump"  shall  peal  its  note- 
Through  the  ear's  caverns  most  remote, 
And  Christ  himself  shall  then  appear, 
To  whisper  in  the  mourner's  ear, 
The  heavenly  sound,  "be  of  good  cheer." 


LINES    INSERTED   IN   AN    ALBUM 


Ah !  Mary — must  I  then  comply, 
And  must  I  twine  a  wreath  for  thee  ? 

The  muses  coy,  my  presence  fly, 
And  a  dread  task  remains  for  me. 

Could  I  express,  what  now  I  feel 

A  great  ul  heart,  thou  then  should'st  knovr, 
But  language  never  could  reveal 

The  tender  bosom's  overflow. 

In  beauty's  bloom,  in  youth's  full  prime, 
May  all  thy  coming  days  be  fair  ; 

A  stranger  to  like  griefs  of  mine, 
So  mayest  thou  be  to  every  care. 

Yet  while  thou  lookest  with  fond  delight, 
On  scenes  with  gay  illusion  fraught ; 

O  !  think  thee  of  misfortune's  blight, 
And  turn  thee  to  my  hapless  lot. 


102 

There  is  a  tear  that  ever  soothes, 

And  there's  a  smile  can  cheer  the  heart 

The  roughest,  bleakest  way  it  smooths, 
And  resignation  doth  impart. 

That  tear — that  smile,  are  sympathy's, 
And  from  the  noble  heart  they  spring  ; 

That  heart  to  feel  kind  Mary's  is, 
4.nd  Mary's  praise  I  fain  would  sing. 


IN    MEMORY, 

[Of  Mrs.  Lucinda  W.  Wright,  who  departed  this  life,  Nov.  13th,  1826,  at 
Aiikhurnah,  in  the  Choctaw  nation,  where  she  went  with  her  husband, 
as  "assistant  Missionaries."] 


Afar  to  the  west  where  the  tall  forests  wave, 

Where  arts  and  where  genius,  repose  in  the  grave  ; 

The  wolf  and  the  panther,  in  wild  horror  prowl, 

And  where  the  rude  savage  screams  forth  his  dread  howl. 

Where  sweet  sound  of  gospel  had  never  been  heard, 
But  dumb  "  stocks  and  stones"  into  idols  were  reared  ; 
Dread  war  whoops  were  echoed  and  terrors  prevailed, 
The  innocent  traveller  was  met  and  assailed. 

She  went — and  it  was  on  an  errand  of  love, 
The  mind  of  the  savage  to  tame  and  improve  ; 
To  weed  out  the  vices  matured  by  long  time, 
And  implant  in  their  bosoms  a  virtue  sublime. 

She  left  her  fond  home  in  the  land  of  the  blest, 
And  gave  to  affection  a  heart  wounding  test ; 
As  forth  came  the  dread  word,  "  Forever  farewell !" 
And  tears  like  the  yain  drops  abundantly  fell. 


104 

Now  in  that  loved  circle  a  mother  was  there, 
A.  father* — a  brother,  and  young  sisters  dear  ; 
But  God  was  her  refuge,  she  looked  to  the  skies, 
And  chid  the  warm  tear  as  it  rose  to  her  eyes. 

To  that  bleak  clime  she  went  and  there  toiling  has  fell. 
And  deaf  is  her  ear  to  the  rude  savage  yell ; 
She  has  found  in  the  land  she  had  sought  for  to  save, 
She  has  found  in  that  land  with  loved  Mosely,  a  grave. 

There  far  from  her  kindred  she  rests  from  her  cares, 
And  o'er  her  deep  grave  stands  her  partner  in  tears  ; 
Can  aught  that  is  earthly  a  comfort  impart, 
Or  heal  the  deep  wound  that  is  made  in  the  heart  ? 

The  child  of  the  forest  whom  late  she  had  taught, 
Its  mind  with  the  love  of  a  saviour  had  fraught  ; 
Seeks  out  the  lone  spot,  drops  a  tear  on  the  sod, 
And  says  "  has  she  gone  to  the  land  of  her  God  ?" 

And  violets  bloom  on  that  grave  in  the  wild, 
Where  the  soft  dews  of  evening  are  gently  distilled  ; 
The  tall  tree  is  moaning  a  dirge  to  her  fall, 
And  throws  o'er  the  green  sod  a  shadowy  pall. 

And  must  she  remain  in  that  wilderness  ground, 
Till  the  last  trump  awakes  with  its  thundering  sound  ? 
Then  may  she  come  forth  with  the  saint  by  her  side, 
His  glories  to  sing,  who  on  calvary  died. 

*Mrs.  W.  was  the  daughter  of  Col  Aaahel  Washburn,  of  Montpelier,  Vt. 


LINE  S. 

[Suggested  by  a  walk  abroad,  in  November,  and  addressed  to  Misa  R.  1 


Rosanna  see ! — behold  how  varied 
Nature  now  deplores  her  doom ; 

While  on  the  wing  of  whirlwinds  carried 
Is  her  late  enchanting  bloom. 

The  forest  trees  themselves  forsaken, 
Tremble  moaning  to  the  blast ; 

E'en  their  last  withered  leaves  are  taken 
Forth  in  wild  confusion  cast. 

Whilst  the  feathered  songsters  flying, 

To  and  fro  distrest  appear; 
Merry  songs  are  turned  to  sighing, 

All  their  gro;   -3  are  wan  and  sear. 

The  gardens  mourn  their  desolation, 
And  their  faded  stilts  display  ; 

No  longer  viewed  with  admiration, 
Flower  and  perfume  swept  away. 


106      ^ 

And  naked  fields  no  more  inviting, 

Lonely  and  resigned  remain  ; 
To  gaze  on  universal  blighting, 

Cheered  no  more  by  sun  nor  rain. 

Ah  !  why  this  change  from  gay  to  sadness, 
Why  this  end  of  summer's  bloom  ; 

And  this  look  of  frantic  madness, 
On  sweet  vegetation's  tomb  ? 

Alas  !  methinks  while  wildly  gazing — 

Whispers  soft  fall  on  my  ear  ; 
I  list — and  oh  almost  amazing — 

Sounds  like  this  I  seem  to  hear. 

Knowest  thou  not  that  power  creative  ? 

Him  who  wisely  orders  all  ? 
He  formed  his  flowers  as  imitative 

Of  fair  youth,  whose  pride  must  fall. 

Although  arrayed  in  matchless  beauty, 
Praised — admired  and  flattered  much  ; 

Yet  time  is  faithful  to  his  duty, 
Blighting  by  an  unseen  touch — 

But  beauty  when  on  virtue  founded, 
While  the  heart  contains  true  worth  ; 

Though  outwardly  it  may  be  wounded, 
Yet  again  'twill  blossom  forth. 


107 


: 


For  like  the  root  of  vegetation, 
Deeply  in  the  soil  secured  ; 

'Twill  long  survive  cold  desolation, 
Blooming  till  by  age  matured. 


Then  fondly  may  we  strive,  Rosanna, 
This  priceless  virtue  to  obtain  ; 

That  we  may  not  as  have  so  many, 
Fade  no  more  to  bloom  again. 

That  when  our  earthly  course  is  ended, 
When  grim  death  for  us  doth  call ; 

By  virtue  — peace  and  heaven  befriended, 
Calm  and  soft  may  be  our  fall. 


And  like  this  vegetation  round  us, 
Renovate  when  comes  our  spring  ; 

And  leave  the  earthly  sod  that  bound 
In  celestial  realms  to  sing. — 


LAMENT. 


I  had  a  friend — that  friend  was  dear — 
Of  modest  soul — of  heart  sincere  ; 
Who  all  my  griefs  would  ever  share, 
And  sympathize  in  every  care. 

With  her  I  oft  have  gaily  strayed 
Into  the  woodland's  leafy  shade  ; 
There  freely  told  her  ail  my  heart, 
While  her's  in  turn  she  would  impart, 

With  such  a  friend  full  blest  was  I, 
To  her  with  every  care  to  fly  ; 
And  find  her  ever  still  the  same, 
In  word — in  deed — friend  as  in  name. 

But  fortune's  smiles  I'll  trust  no  more, 
For  all  those  tender  scenes  are  o'er, 
My  heart  is  pained — I  weep,  I  sigh — 
But  Mary  hears  no  more  my  cry. 


109 

That  ear  is  closed — that  heart  is  cold, 
Where  virtues  dwelt,  as  yet  untold ; 
That  tongue  is  mute,  that  form  is  laid, 
To  wither  in  the  silent  shade. 

And  desolate  is  now  the  grove, 
Where  arm  in  arm  we  used  to  rove, 
Each  vale — each  knoll  we  wandered  o'er, 
Now  whispers  "  Mary  is  no  more." 

Yet  lives  she,  to  my  mem'ry  dear, 
As  well  can  prove  each  flowing  tear ; 
And  never  will  that  friend  depart 
From  the  deep  centre  of  my  heart. 


VALEDICTION 

TO    MRS.    R  .    A  . 


Accept  dear  friend — e'er  I  depart, 
A  grateful  tribute  from  my  heart ; 
And  let  the  warm  effusion  prove 
My  deep,  sincere  and  lasting  love. 

I  would  my  lyre  a  strain  should  wake, 
And  from  my  heart  its  lesson  take  ; 
But  oh !  'tis  chilled  and  pulsless  grown, 
No  more  its  joys  shall  be  my  own. 

And  yet  how  oft  in  former  days, 
I'vo  smiled  at  its  uncultured  lays ; 
And  felt  sweet  hope  my  bosom  warm, 
Imparting  to  dull  life  a  charm. 

And  must  I  bid  my  lyre  farewell ! 
And  feel  no  more  its  soothing  spell  ? 
Shall  joy  — shall  hope  no  more  illume 
My  lonely  pathway  to  the  tomb  ? 


Ill 

Sweet  friend,  and  shall  I  then  despair, 
Hath  life  no  balm  to  lull  my  care  ? 
— Yes — friendship  !  it  is  thine  t'  impart 
An  anodyne  to  aching  heart. 

'Tis  she  who  on  life's  ocean  tost, 
Whose  course,  by  adverse  gale  is  lost ; 
Who  best  can  feel,  and  best  declare, 
What  gratitude's  emotions  are. 

But  I  must  bid  the  dear  adieu  ! 

A  distant  journey  to  pursue  ; 

Where  friendship,  pure  and  deep  as  thine, 

May  never  on  my  pathway  shine. 

But  first  I'll  wish  thee — oh !  'tis  vain, 
A  page  could  not  that  wish  contain  ; 
Nor  language  can  its  depth  express, 
But  may  my  God  Rebecca  bless. 


LINES. 

(On   retumiug  a  volume  of  "  Sermons  to  young  people",  lent  by  a  pious 
lady.J 


Go,  book — and  tell  thy  mistress  kind, 
The  hours  thou  hast  engrossed  my  mind 
Tell  her  the  "  truths"  thou  didst  impart, 
At  times  sank  deep  into  my  heart ; 
And  as  I  read  thy  pages  o'er, 
I  longed  to  "  go  and  sin  no  more". 

But  tell  her  I  am  nature's  child, 
Stupid — weak — depraved  and  wild  ; 
Nor  thou  nor  all  thy  lettered  race, 
Can  give  my  heart  a  "saving  grace." 

'Tis  God  alone —  the  work  can  do, 
A  sinful  mortal  to  renew  ; 
Yet  tell  her  he  has  various  means, 
To  show  our  natures  and  our  sins, 
That  thou  art  under  his  command, 
Though  given  to  her  careful  hand. 

Tell  her  thou  dost  return  again, 

With  hope,  thou  wert  not  lifct  in  vain, 

"\> 
Convey  my  thanks  and  tell — O  tell — 

But  sweet  instructor,  fare  thee  well ! 


ELEGIAC   LINES. 

[To  the  memory  of  Miss  E.  Kimball,  daughter    of  J.  Kimball   Esq.   of 
i,  Vt. 


Ba, 
'Tw 


as  in  the  silent  field  of  rest, 
The  sacred  mansion  of  the  dead  ; 
I  saw  the  green  turf  on  her  breast, 
The  grey  stone  standing  at  her  head. 

Few  were  the  days  to  her  consigned, 
But  fourteen  years  to  her  were  given 

To  open  and  improve  the  mind, 

And  thus  prepare  the  soul  for  heaven, 

And  yet  rou'id  many  a  friendly  heart, 
She  twined  herself  with  tender  tie  ; 

'Twas  not  by  caprice — "W^rt, 
But  innocent  simplicity. 

Mild  was  the  beaming  of  her  eye, 
Her  soul  was  in  its  lustre  seen  ; 

Her  cheek  had  all  the  rose's  dye, 
And  interesting  was  her  mien. 


114 

But  Ah  !  Eliza,  thus  to  fall, 
Like  a  sweet  rose  in  its  rich  bloom; 

Could  pity — friendship — love —  nor  all 
Thy  virtues  save  thee  from  the  tomb  ? 

Ah  !  no,  the  fatal  blow — 'tis  given, 
The  blow  that  sank  thy  form  to  earth ; 

That  raised  thy  spotless  soul  to  heaven, 
And  showed  us  all  thy  lovely  worth. 

But  fancy  paints  thee  far  away 
From  the  inert  and  mournful  sod  ; 

That  now  protects  thy  lifeless  clay, 
In  blest  communion  with  thy  God. 

And  oh  !  as  up  through  ether  way, 

Thy  uncumbered  soul  did  fly  ; 
To  hail  the  mansions  bright  of  day, 

What  wonderous  scenes  regaled  thine  eye. 

Did'st  thou  not  cast  a  look  behind, 

And  pity  mortals  here  below  ; 
Who  as  thou  wert,  are  still  confined, 

Nor  heavenly  joys  can  feel  or  know  ? 

And  when  you  reached  that  happy  shore, 
Quick  welcomed  to  thy  saviours  breast ; 

Did'st  thou  not  for  us  implore, 

An  entrance  to  that  Heavenly  rest  ? 


115 

But  sainted  spirit !  fare  thee  well  ! 

For  thy  remove  we'll  weep  no  more  , 
Though  bitter  tears  in  showers  have  fell, 

The  murmuring  drops  shall  now  be  o'er. 

Though  o'er  thy  relics  with  fond  gaze, 
Thy  mother  sits  and  deeply  sighs  ; 

Above — that  eye  she  now  will  raise, 
And  trace  thy  passage  to  the  skies. 

Then  tell  her  Clara,  of  thy  fate, 
And  how  her  Nancy  passed  away ; 

Thus  teach  how  futile  is  this  state, 
Where  all  things  wither  and  decay. 


MIDNIGHT   THOUGHT 


'Tis  night  and  the  tumult  is  hu.°hed, 

Soft  silence  is  stealing  around  ; 
Now  nought  but  the  low  breeze  is  heard, 

That  sighs  o'er  yon  new  risen  mound. 

The  moon  from  behind  a  dark  cloud, 
Sheds  a  faint  and  a  lingering  ray  ; 

On  that  turf  where  enwraped  in  a  shroud  ; 
Young  Almond  lies  sleeping  in  clay. 

How  transient  dear  babe  was  thy  stay, 

Six  months  tho'u  hadst  scarce  been  their  own, 

When  death  came  and  took  thee  away, 
And  left  thy  fond  parents  to  mourn. 

Yes  yonder  I  see  a  lone  cot, 

Where  Cath'rine  still  weeps  thy  remove  ; 
In  vain  thy  fair  form  has  she  sought, 

And  sighed  for  the  babe  of  her  love, 

Each  relic  she  mournful  surveys, 

Then  tears  flow  again  from  her  eyes  ; — 


117 

Oh !  where  is  my  Almond  she  says, 
While  sobs  in  succession  arise. 

Yet  thou  canst  no  more  hear  her  sighs, 
Thy  cheek  feels  no  more  her  warm  tear ; 

Arrived  to  thy  home  in  the  skies,      f 
Thou  lookest  not  on  sorrow  ^iere. 

But  time  his  swift  circuit  shall  move, 
And  seasons  their  changes  unfold  ; 

Till  summoned  by  angels  above, 
Thy  visage  we  there  shall  behold. 


TO   THE    MEMORY  OF   A   FRIEND. 


Our  joys  are  few  and  short  the  date, 
How  soon  the  transient  visions  fly; 

All  nature  blooms  in  mortal  state, 

And  all  that's  blooming  soon  must  die. 

On  what  shall  mortal  man  depend, 

Of  all  upon  this  earthly  sod  ? 
Since  honors,  riches,  fame,  nor  friend, 

Survives  the  mandate  of  a  God. 

Oh  come  frail  man  and  view  the  mound, 
The  grassy  turf  where  Clara  lies  ; 

And  say  no  more  thy  hopes  are  found 
On  ought  beneath  the  ether  skies. 

When  on  a  sickly  couch  reclined, 
And  pains  distract  her  feeble  frame  ; 

Still  under  all  she  was  resigned, 

"  My  God  is  just"  she  would  exclaim. 

When  a  loved  brother  weeping  came, 

To  bid  a  long,  a  last  adieu ; 
He  pointed  to  Jehovah's  name, 

To  guide  her,  death's  dark  valley  through. 


119 

Remember,  said  that  pious  friend, — 
'Tis  not  by  righteous  deeds  we've  done, 

That  we  to  God  shall  e'er  ascend, 
But  through  the  merits  of  his  son. 

"  I  know  it" — smiling — she  replied, 
"  My  hope  is  in  his  saving  grace  ; 

Though  it  were  just  I  were  denied, 
And  all  our  guilty  sinful  race." 

As  sisters  weeping  near  her  stood, 
She  did  her  trembling  hand  extend  ; 

And  as  to  chide  the  rising  flood, 
A  smile  the  action  did  attend. 

Of  a  kind  parent  bowed  with  grief, 

She  asked  his  prayers,  for  the  dread  hour  ; 

And  as  he  breathod  the  sweet  relief, 
She  fell  asleep  to  wake  no  more. 

Soft  be  thy  slumbers  gentle  friend, 
Aiii  peaceful  rest  thy  lowly  head ; 

Where  ne'er  shall  cank'ring  care  attend, 
Thy  hallowed,  thy  reposing  bed. 

And  cease  the  sigh,  ye  weeping  friends, 

Parent — brother — sister,  all ; 
A  providence  o'er  earth  attends, 

And  nought  without  his  leave  shall  fall. 


THE  AFRICAN. 


Ah !  how  unjust,  was  the  decree, 
Tyranic  pride  prounounced  in  spite  ; 

There  shall  a  lasting  bondage  be, 
Of  Afric's  sons  to  lordly  white. 

While  pity  wept  and  called  in  vain, 
On  mercy  to  forbid  the  deed; 

Ambition  firmer  drew  the  chain, 
And  virtue  sought  in  vain  to  plead. 

Then  grace,  with  placid  look  and  calm, 
Spake  to  the  mourning  black  and  said 

Come  rest  in  my  protecting  arm, 
And  thou  shalt  there  be  comforted. 

But  death,  triumphant,  called  aloud, 
And  said  "  'tis  I,  'tis  /  alone, 

Can  rescue  from  the  haughty  proud, 
The  power  to  level  is  my  own." 


.* 


I 


- 


• 


w" 


